Lord Will & Her Grace

by Sophia Nash

  Sophie plucked at her pantaloons. "But, then, you tricked me. You allowed me to believe you were attracted to…"

  "Say no more, my darling. You've cured me of every failing and I will promise to avoid falsehoods in future and remain faithful to you, always." His posture oozed charm and confidence.

  "And you probably lied to me about the parson. Did you pay him to get me alone again?"

  "Now, Sophie, I thought this would be a most roman—"

  "Why you're the most pompous, self-important, presumptuous… ass! You expect me to accept a marriage proposal from you after you've deceived me, tricked me and even entered into a false wager with me? You know nothing about me, sir. I wouldn't have you if you were the last man on earth!"

  "My, my, chérie, such language," he said, sure of his eventual success. "Now let's be serious, for I think if we joined—"

  With that, Sophie grabbed an oar, stood up, and pushed at his chest with the paddle. The angle and force were enough to make him lose his balance on the high, narrow bench. His eyes widened in surprise as he toppled head over heels into the sea. The only reminder of male arrogance was his tall beaver hat floating on the bubbling water.

  Sophie took enormous satisfaction watching him bobble to the surface, and gasp for air. "And in case you didn't fully comprehend my signal, Lord Will, in the language of the oar—not the fan, mind you—that means, 'Stay away from me, you, you puffed-up imposter, if you treasure your life.' "

  He treaded water while simultaneously attempting to remove his heavy boots. "Have a heart, Sophie," he said laughing. "Take pity on a drowning man! On the man who adores you and will father your children."

  "Not on my life," she said. "I don't have pity for lying devils."

  "Well, at least I've risen a notch in your estimation over the last minute. A devil is at least a human form…" He stopped when he saw the fury in her face. "I shall make it my mission in life to earn your good opinion, darling."

  She grabbed the two oars and began rowing back to the shore in earnest.

  Well, he thought, as he began swimming to the beach, the idea of a post-engagement celebratory kiss had been, perhaps, a bit optimistic. It seemed that, indeed, hell hath no fury like a woman… deceived.

  No matter. She loved him and he would have her in the end. Her initial refusal just heightened his interest. Ah, she was a true delight and they would share a wonderful life together once he wooed her back. And he hadn't a doubt he would accomplish it.

  Had he not spent the better part of his adulthood charming females of all types into his arms? And success would be all the sweeter with this briefest of missteps.

  The score stood, one for his sweet Sophie and one for the devil.

  Chapter Six

  THE dinner party at Villa Belza was as uncomfortable as Sophie had imagined it would be. During the entire five courses and removes, Lord Will refrained from saying a single word to her.

  He barely even looked at her.

  Well, at least he had taken her refusal seriously.

  And he took obvious comfort in the bevy of females at the far end of the table who besieged him.

  The day after their encounter in the boat, Sophie had deemed it wise to add another family to the long-promised gathering the next evening. There was safety to be had in numbers lest she be forced to converse with the snake and do him harm. And so she'd sent a late invitation to the Aversleys of Bath, to whom Aunt Rutledge had insisted Sophie pay a courtesy call while in the country. This would relieve her social obligation.

  Unfortunately, the evening hadn't transpired as planned, like all of the events of her life as of late.

  The Aversley party consisted of only six persons. Aside from the fiftyish or so father, of the leering eyes, there was the tiny, meek-minded mother, their three daughters and one son of fifteen given to coughing fits. The three older sons of the Aversleys had been forced to remain at home due to the same illness that obviously affected the younger son. So much for balancing the numbers.

  The daughters were quite beautiful and the Mornington sisters took an instant envy and dislike to them. The same could not be said for Lord William.

  Sophie had never seen so many females fighting mind and body over one male. And the Aversley ladies, much to the dismay of the Mornington girls, had the upper hand with their superior beauty and intelligence.

  "Lord Will, do tell us about your daring deeds during the war. My father was well acquainted with several officers at the top levels of British intelligence. Papa said you were one of the fiercest spies in France," Miss Aversley said, fluttering her eyelashes down over her wide, round eyes the color of bluebells. The lady's bright auburn curls fell in soft waves about her heart-shaped face. She was one of the prettiest females Sophie had ever seen. Her sisters were even more perfect if it was possible.

  He raised his hands as if to speak, displayed his most seductive smile and shook his head.

  "Oh, Lord William, you can count on us to be the souls of discretion. We would not breathe a word to anyone," sighed Miss Anna Mornington.

  "Oh, yes, do tell us more of your life, my lord," said Miss Philippa Aversley, the only brunette in the family. "Your exploits and heroic efforts are well known to us."

  Sophie could almost hear a collective sigh of rapture from every female breast in the room save hers and Mari's.

  She was beginning to feel rather ill at the sight of all these females hanging on to the scraps of stories and attention Lord William tossed their way.

  Sophie was stuck between the coughing boy and his lecherous father. Really! What had her aunt been thinking? And Mari and Mr. Mornington were so wrapped up in each other's conversation they provided no diversion whatsoever.

  But God finally took pity on her at the end of the meal when the boy exhibited a particularly long paroxysm and it was decided the family must return to Bath despite the near-to-tears expressions of the pretty sisters.

  The remaining members of the party, with the exception of Lord Will, breathed a sigh of relief when the Aversleys departed. The residents of Burnham-by-the-Sea then retired to the elegant music room.

  "Miss Somerset, you've been remarkably generous in your attentions to the neighborhood, from the donations for the restoration of the school to all your visits to the infirm," Mr. Mornington said.

  Sophie, in front of the tea and coffee service in the large room, refilled his proffered cup.

  Mr. Mornington continued, "You're more than filling the role of the former Duchess of Cornwallis. I cannot tell you how sad my family, indeed the entire county, was when news of the duke and duchess's deaths in London reached us so soon after their son's death. My mother counted the duchess as her closest friend. We spent so many happy hours here, visiting the villa."

  "I know little of my uncle and aunt's ties." She swallowed awkwardly.

  "My mother and Her Grace attended school together and remained like sisters to one another their entire lives, writing to each other most faithfully when they were apart. I am sorry you didn't know your uncle and aunt."

  "I am too, sir."

  "Her Grace would have been so happy to know of your good works in the neighborhood."

  "Please don't go on, Mr. Mornington," she replied. "My father always said acts of charity should remain anonymous or else they'll not count when one rattles the pearly gates."

  She looked up to find Lord Will grinning at her. He was again dressed in somber attire. Gone were the ruffles, lace and flamboyant colors. Elegant buff breeches, a dark blue superfine coat and top boots had taken their place. Unfortunately, his staggering handsomeness remained to torment her.

  "Do you have anything to fear, my dear, when you face St. Peter?" he asked.

  "I'm sure I've far less to fear than you, my lord."

  He smiled again, revealing those roguish dimples of his. "A hit, mademoiselle. You know not how you wound me." His dark eyes twinkled and Sophie's stomach turned over.

  There was a reason she'd refused to see him
when he'd called and left his card the day before. She could name about a thousand reasons, starting with those eyes of his and ending with his devious nature.

  Sophie turned to glance at Mari, seated in the alcove of the music room. The glass doors were open, refreshing the room that had remained closed off for many months. The sounds of early summer crickets filled the chamber as well as a slight breeze, which teased the corners of the striped silk curtains.

  Mr. Mornington rejoined her cousin to enjoy a quiet tete-a-tete. The Misses Mornington were too far away to come to her aid. They were locked in a heated battle over who would play the pianoforte first.

  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, chérie, for conversation. But that's no great hardship, is it? We've always been able to amuse one another," Lord Will said in low tones.

  Sophie inhaled. But before she could answer him, he continued. "Have you been thinking about our last encounter? Ah, I see by your expression that you have."

  She forced her hands to remain calmly folded in her lap. "Only insofar as I didn't have the opportunity to tell you more precisely what I really think of you. But at least I won't feel the need to teach you the proposed lessons—about Character, or perhaps Conscience, and the rest. For I think we both know that would be a completely wasted effort."

  "I am sorry to hear that. I'd not thought you would try to end our wager unfairly. You take much pride in your good character and reneging on a bet does not sit well. And I offered the perfect solution."

  Surely, she would explode in anger.

  Mari returned to refill her teacup. Sophie threw in two lumps of sugar with enough fury that the tea splashed over the rim of the delicate porcelain.

  "I am so sorry, Mari. Do let me give you another cup."

  "Don't go to the trouble, dearest," Mari said, barely noticing. And then she focused on Sophie's discomfort. "Are you all right, cousin? You're flushed."

  Sophie gritted out an assurance of good health and Mari wandered back to her prince.

  "Chérie, I would not see you so upset. Your happiness is my primary concern."

  "If that is so, then you'll take yourself out of my sight before I say something I shall regret." She smiled at Mr. Mornington who was watching her.

  "That's an excellent idea. What we need is seclusion, chérie, to resolve all the issues that stand in the way of our happy future."

  "Well, I think you'd be better served if you looked for your happy future in Bath where three Aversley females will hang on your every word and shower you with adoration for the rest of your life."

  He chuckled. "I knew you loved me," he whispered and fingered a tendril of hair that had come loose from the coiffure Karine had arranged hours ago.

  "What!"

  "Very good. I shall return later this evening, when we can be alone and I can revel in those seeds of jealousy by planting my—"

  "That is out of the question."

  "Chérie, you're adorable when you're in a pique. Promise you will argue with me at least once a week when we are wed."

  She was silent, looking beyond his shoulder.

  "No? I see you fear I'm not taking you seriously. When I return I promise I'll listen to every loathsome word you hurl my way and then we'll have our heart-to-heart." He paused. "There is something of vital importance I must give you."

  "I will not accept anything from you."

  "I promise you'll not break any rule accepting this token. Quite the contrary, chérie." He discreetly picked up her hand and a curl of heat flowed to her breast. "I also promise I'll not place you in any type of danger for even the slightest moment. My word."

  "The path to hell is paved with broken promises."

  "I thought it was paved with good intentions."

  "In your case they're one and the same, sir."

  "Ah, you are… perhaps correct," he said, surprising her with his answer.

  Mari walked up with Mr. Mornington in time to save Sophie from trying to outwit Lord William. "Has my cousin said something to offend, my lord?"

  Mr. Mornington appeared mesmerized by Mari whose hand gently rested on top of the stout gentleman's arm. All at once her partner spoke. "That's all right, Miss Somerset, Lord Will often provokes extreme retaliation. I'm sure you're not to blame."

  "Mr. Mornington"—Sophie smiled up to his pleasing countenance—"Lord William is our guest, and as such, should be accorded every courtesy due him. In fact, I should make a greater effort to be a better hostess to all of you."

  It was so easy after that. She flittered about and engaged in conversation with everyone. Turning the pages of music for both the Misses Mornington proved to be the best possible employment. The Mornington sisters murdered the music quite exquisitely. There were copious missed notes and Sophie was gratified that the music was altogether too loud to permit much conversation.

  "Did you know Lord Will composes music, Miss Somerset?" Miss Mornington pulled a small sheath of musical score from her voluminous reticule. "I brought this copy of a sonata he gave to my mother many years ago when he came to Hinton Arms on holiday one summer. I've been practicing it to play for him. I shall surprise him," she continued, excitement filling her face.

  "I don't remember Lord Will ever playing music for us," Felicia Mornington said, annoyed. "I would've remembered."

  "Not at all, Licia. You were still a mere infant, three or four years old to my seven years. And I remember it well. Charles and Lord Will both turned fifteen on Midsummer's Eve and were allowed to dine with the adults, leaving us to dine alone." She pouted in remembrance, then continued. "And Lord Will wrote this for Mama because she loved to hear him play." Anna Mornington clearly enjoyed lording over her seniority at every opportunity. "And father forbade Mama to play the sonata after the boys returned to Eton. But it is so beautiful, I will play it for everyone."

  The girl began keying the haunting score. Sadly, she made many jarring mistakes and rushed the piece.

  The younger sister jumped to her feet and went to Lord William. "Really, we should ask you to perform this. I understand you play like no one else." She giggled, and fluttered her eyelashes.

  He turned to Sophie. "I’m certain enough talent has been exhibited for one evening." He wore a curious remote expression, which was replaced within moments by his usual charming yet superior air. "I think it best we take our leave. We’ve long outstayed our welcome. And—the sooner we go, the sooner we will have the pleasure of seeing you in future." He clasped her hand and raised it to his lips.

  Mari was flustered by the mention of a departure. "Oh, but it is much too early for leave-taking, surely. We have not even set out the card tables yet." She had no eyes for anyone save Mr. Mornington.

  That gentleman glanced at his pocket watch, then at Sophie almost sheepishly. "His lordship's correct. We've forgotten we're outside of London and, as such, should adhere to country hours."

  Another disappointment was voiced from behind the pianoforte. Only the strongest stare from the brother silenced the sister. With the briefest of words, and the longest of glances between Mari and her smitten swain, the party from Hinton Arms took their leave.

  Mari begged fatigue with a glow of happiness on her face, but Sophie wasn't in a good enough humor to follow her upstairs to hear for the umpteenth time Mr. Mornington's praises. Instead, she returned to the music room.

  She could have no more stayed away from the sheets of music still propped above the pianoforte's keys than a moth resists a flame. It had been months since she had played, a lifetime ago it seemed. She hadn't had the heart to try this magnificent instrument because it would bring back poignant memories of playing the pianoforte at home for her father who had loved to hear her play.

  She stared at the bold strokes of notes on the page, hearing the music in her mind.

  Softly, ever so softly, she stroked the keys. The lilting music began so achingly sweet and simple. It then rose higher and higher in such passionate intensity that it was almost impossible to play.

  So
phie was amazed Lord Will had composed it. Could it be possible that there was perhaps just the smallest bit more to Lord William than met the eye? And yet he had refused to play, which went against his usual preening character. Was there something beyond the façade he presented? Perhaps a shocking flicker of humility deep beneath the veneer?

  Sophie shut her eyes and stilled her hands on the keys. She was obsessed with thoughts of him again. It was ridiculous. She was reading into his minutest actions implausible ideas. He had had that strange expression after the piece was played because the Mornington sisters had played so long, and so ill that it had given him the same headache she now had herself.

  He was returning to his chambers probably to dissect the sheer stupidity of the evening to his, his devoted man, Mr. Farquhar. And they would laugh as they drank brandy and waved about their fans with only Mrs. Tickle to bear witness to their merriment.

  He had said he would come—tonight—for some sort of clandestine rendezvous. More likely he was laughing, picturing her waiting up for him in the shadows of the front hall. He was undoubtedly telling his valet how she wore her heart on her sleeve and how he was tiring of acting the eager lover.

  Sophie was sure Lord Will was perceptive enough about the human condition to know that her professed hatred was as obsessive as love and frequently could be reversed most thoroughly.

  She had failed miserably at acting the lassitude of a truly disinterested party. And so he would continue to pursue her and wear her down and she wasn't sure she would be able to resist him.

  There was just the smallest part of her ego that was screaming in her head that maybe, just maybe he had fallen in love with her. Opposites did attract. Her father had told her that many times. She was sure, on several occasions, such as the one tonight, she had glimpsed something more in his eyes than just amusement. It hinted at strong emotions and sometimes, of something darker, more vulnerable.