by Alec, Joyce
“No,” the duke murmured, leaning across and catching her hand in his. “I am glad you spoke to me, Miss Weston. I will confess to being very much surprised that your brother would send you here if there was enough money to continue to care for you.” He lifted one eyebrow, and Sophia felt her embarrassment grow all the more.
“My brother did not allow me a Season,” she whispered, lowering her gaze. “I will not go into his reasons.”
There was a long pause. A pause where Sophia did not dare lift her head, did not dare look into his eyes to see what expression there might be there. She did not want to see his pitying gaze, quite sure that this was what would be there.
Clearing his throat, the duke leaned forward in his seat. “Miss Weston, I quite understand your predicament. Of course, I will ensure that you have no need to encounter my guests when they are here.”
Sighing with relief that she would not need to explain any more about her brother, and in particular that she would not have to greet any of the guests, Sophia lifted her gaze and smiled at him. As she did so, she felt his hand tighten on hers.
“I am sorry you have been so poorly treated by your own kin,” the duke continued, his brows furrowing all the more. “That is shameful.”
Shrugging slightly, Sophia’s smile spread across her face. The way he had reacted to her story brought her a small amount of happiness, glad that he had believed her without question.
“I do not think it has turned out so badly,” she replied honestly, allowing her fingers to intertwine with his despite the knowledge she should have pulled her hand away entirely. “I have met your daughter and find her to be such a delight that I have no cause to be upset or sad over my lack of family. I have had a happier time here these last few weeks than I have ever had at home with my brother. I can assure you that I do not find it a terrible situation, but rather one that has brought me a great deal of joy, and I thank you for that.”
The duke did not reply for a while, simply looking into her eyes and keeping a hold of her hand. The silence grew thick, the atmosphere filling with a delicious tension that had anticipation rifling through Sophia although she had very little idea of what it was she expected.
“You are an extraordinary young woman,” the duke whispered, eventually letting go of her hand and sitting back in his chair. “I believe myself to be quite blessed by your presence. Perhaps your brother has done us both a favor in being so unchivalrous, although I find myself rather angry with his uncouth behavior.”
Sophia smiled and rose to her feet, feeling a burden roll from her shoulders. “Thank you, your grace. I do hope that whatever is on your mind will not keep you from sleep much longer.”
He chuckled, only to look away into the fire with an almost sad expression on his face. Sophia wanted to ask him what was wrong; she wanted to find out what tore at his mind so, but instead, she held her tongue.
“Miss Weston,” he said abruptly, as she began to move away toward the door. “Might you join me here tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow?” she repeated, a little confused. “Yes, of course, your grace.”
His head twisted toward her, his eyes bright. “Good,” he replied, with a smile on his face. “I find your company rather engaging and would like to continue our conversation.”
Happiness burst through her, sending shivers up her spine as she saw the glint in his eyes. “I would be glad to, your grace,” she murmured, bowing her head as she made her way toward the door. “Thank you and good evening.”
“Good evening, Miss Weston,” came the quiet reply.
11
The following day came and went, and as Matthew waited for his brother to choose to go to bed, he found himself growing all the more anticipatory for Miss Weston’s arrival.
He had not seen her apart from a few passing meetings in the hallways, having been caught up with ensuring that everything was in order for the guests who would be arriving in three days’ time. It was not something he was looking forward to in the least, although he had been enjoying his brother’s company. Arthur had been full of tales about his adventures across the world, catching Sarah’s attention completely over dinner, as he had regaled them both with story after story about where he had been.
Smiling to himself, Matthew got up and poured himself another whiskey, offering one to his brother, who accepted it without question
“That governess of yours,” Arthur began, frowning. “There is something not quite right with her.”
“Miss Weston, you mean?” Matthew replied, confused. “Whatever do you mean?”
Arthur shook his head. “She is much too proper to be a governess. The way she speaks, even the way she moves, tells me that she ought to be a refined, genteel lady. Instead, for whatever reason, she is here, teaching your little girl.” He shrugged and took a mouthful of whiskey. “Not that this is a bad thing, of course. Sarah’s a lovely little thing and is sure to turn out wonderfully with Miss Weston by her side.”
Recalling how Miss Weston had spoken to him so candidly the previous evening, Matthew felt the same spurt of anger rush through him that he had felt when she had first told him of her past. “That is because she is a refined lady, Arthur," he explained, with a sigh. “I will not go into it, but I have discovered she was basically thrown from her brother’s house for no good reason.”
“Is that so?” his brother murmured thoughtfully. “What title does her brother hold then?”
“Viscount Brookridge, I believe,” Matthew replied, with a shake of his head. “If I get a hold of him, I do not know what I will do. From what Miss Weston said, he turned her out simply so that he could keep more money for himself.” He turned his gaze back to his brother, frowning as he saw him stare back at him, his eyes wide and cheeks pale. “For goodness sake, whatever is the matter?”
“Did you say, Viscount Brookridge?” he asked slowly, one hand now clasping the arm of the chair tightly. “Tell me you did not say Viscount Brookridge.”
“Yes, I did,” Matthew replied, understanding slowly beginning to dawn as horror filled him. “No, Arthur, it cannot be!”
“I do not know him particularly well,” his brother pleaded, throwing back his whiskey in one gulp before shaking his head. “But I thought, since he has only recently gained his title, it might be nice to have him join us here.”
His stomach roiled, as he thought of Viscount Brookridge coming to stay in his home for a time, his hand tightening on his glass. “We must rescind the invitation.”
“I do not think we can,” his brother replied, heavily. “It takes a good few days of travel to come here, and by the time a letter reaches the house, they will have already left.”
“I cannot have that particular gentleman here!” Matthew exclaimed, thumping the arm of his chair. “If what Miss Weston says is true – and I have no reason not to believe her – then to have him here will bring nothing but discord and upset. He is not the kind of man I wish to befriend, Arthur.”
His brother stared at him for a moment, as though trying to find some solution but coming up with nothing. “I do not know what to do then,” he muttered, eventually, passing one hand over his eyes. “I did not know, Matthew.”
Aware that it was not his brother’s fault, Matthew sank back into his chair, his heart painful. “I know you did not,” he admitted quietly. “Nor did I until yesterday. Miss Weston has been very good at keeping her reasons for becoming a governess quiet.”
“It is only ten days,” his brother replied helpfully. “If Miss Weston is not to see the guests, and they do not see her, then there should be no reason for her to have any kind of contact with her brother and his wife.”
Matthew shook his head. “I cannot keep this from her.”
His brother frowned, tilting his head a little as he regarded him closely. “Do not tell me you have some kind of feelings for Miss Weston!”
The rebuttal did not spring to his lips as Matthew had expected. He opened his mouth to say something, anything,
but it did not come to him. Staring at his brother, his heart began to quicken, urgency flooding him as he thought of something to say, only for Arthur to laugh out loud, slapping his thigh in the process.
“By Jove, Matthew! I never thought I would see the day.”
Going hot all over, Matthew shook his head, trying to find something to explain all that was going on within his heart.
“Not that I think it is a bad thing, of course! I would have usually pushed you away from a governess, but since she was the daughter of a viscount, I can see no difficulty in you pursuing…. whatever it is that is between you.” Arthur’s mouth tipped up, his eyes glinting with mirth that Matthew could not quite understand.
“It is not like that,” Matthew retorted, firmly. “There is nothing–”
“I did wonder, when I saw you waltzing with her,” his brother interrupted, chuckling quietly. “My goodness, Matthew, I must say I am very pleased for you. After what happened with Elizabeth – God rest her soul – I think it is high time you found someone you actually held some affection for.”
Swallowing hard, Matthew closed his eyes and frowned, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. His brother appeared so certain that Matthew felt something for Miss Weston—whilst he, himself, continued to grow more and more confused about what it was beginning to burn with him.
“You do not have to hide it from me any longer,” Arthur continued, offhand. “It is a little surprising, but as I said, it is high time you had someone who cares for you in your life. I have seen the way Miss Weston looks at you, the blush on her cheeks when you speak to her. I am glad for you, truly.”
“You are much too quick to assume things,” Matthew retorted, opening his eyes and glaring at his brother. “I have no strong emotion for Miss Weston other than a desire to protect her from those who had mistreated her thus far. The rest is just muddled in with that particular feeling, I am sure.”
His brother rolled his eyes, the grin remaining plastered across his face. “Is that so?” he murmured lazily. “Well, you can hide it from yourself for as long as you wish, but even from the uncomfortable way you look at me I can tell there is more going on than you wish to make known.” He held up two hands, as though protesting his innocence. “Fear not, I shall not speak of it any longer.”
“And nothing to Miss Weston,” Matthew grated, suddenly afraid that she might walk into the library at any moment and find them both there discussing her. “As I said, Arthur, I am not altogether certain what is going on within my heart. It has all been rather confusing and has certainly come upon me rather quickly.”
Arthur shrugged, getting up to pour himself another brandy. “Well, how long does it take for one to fall in love?” he asked, more softly than before. He raised his glass in a toast, his gleeful expression fading only to be replaced with a serious smile. “Do not shirk from this, Matthew. Do not run from it. I know how much you have despised the thought of returning to London’s society, how much you dreaded going to meet the ladies of the beau monde in the hope of making one of them your bride. I know that you did not want to meet another like Elizabeth, that you have often dreamed about having more. It is not a foolish desire to seek affection between you and your bride, but being as practical as you are, you have sent that idea aside in the knowledge that it is not likely to happen.” His smile broadened as he stretched his arms out wide. “And now, here is a lady right within your own home, one who has hoped for nothing but employment so that she might support herself. I can tell she has not tried to wangle her way into your feelings, that she has in no way attempted to find an association with you that might induce you into marrying her. Instead, she has put her time and effort into Sarah, just as she was expected to do. Does that not say a great deal about her character in itself?”
“Yes, it does,” Matthew agreed, with a small sigh. “Except it is not her character that has ever come into question. It is the fact that I am unsure what to do about the unwanted feelings within my heart. I may only be wishing to protect her, angry that her brother has treated her so poorly. That does not mean that there is anything of substance there; nothing that will last the test of time.”
Arthur nodded sagely, lowering his arms. “Then, mayhap, you need to have a few more conversations with her. Allow yourself to show something of your own struggles, your own life, with her, and see how she responds. Build a trust between you that can begin to grow into something more. That will let you know whether or not the feelings you have for Miss Weston can ever become something substantial.”
Looking up at his brother, Matthew was struck by just how wise he appeared to be. It was as though he had experience with such things, as though he knew exactly what Matthew felt because he had felt the same himself.
“Something you want to tell me, Arthur?” he asked softly. “Someone you met on your travels, mayhap?”
His brother’s smile grew a little mischievous, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps, but that is not a story for tonight. Another time, I think, when your heart is a little more settled.” He smiled at him, lifting his brandy glass again. “To your health, Matthew. Goodnight.”
12
Sophia had made her way to and from the library on three separate occasions, but, each time, had retreated back to her own room having heard the duke and his brother talking.
Her stomach swirled with a delicious excitement, as she made her way back along the hallway, her slippered feet making no sound as she walked. The duke had wanted to speak to her again, and that in itself was something she could be glad about. It had been rather freeing to speak so openly with him last evening about her brother, although she had chosen not to express the depths of her feelings toward Peter in doing what he did. The duke had listened carefully and had appeared to be rather upset for her, which Sophia had found somewhat touching. Even though he did not know her particularly well, and even though she was the hired help, he was still angry enough about the whole situation—enough to allow it to show in his expression and his words.
And then he had asked her to come back and talk to him again this evening. She had not been able to refuse, aware that her pulse was beating somewhat erratically as he had held her hand in his. There was something growing between them, something that should be completely forbidden, and yet remained there, as undeniable as ever.
She should not be going back to speak to him again; she should not be so willing to be alone in his company, but the desire to do just that could not be ignored. She wanted to talk to him, to have him talk to her so that she might learn more about him, more about his life and his character, his hopes and desires, his struggles and dreams. It was, perhaps, foolish to hope for all of that to be shared since their association was still one of employer and servant for the most part, but the chance to simply talk to another living soul, to be able to speak with more freedom than she had been able to for a long time was so great.
There were no voices from within the library, and tentatively, Sophia knocked on the door, hearing the duke’s low voice call out to her almost at once. With excitement rifling through her veins, she stepped inside and looked all about her, seeing the duke sitting by the fire, his head tipped a little to the side as she came in.
“Your grace,” she murmured, coming nearer to him. “Do you still wish to converse this evening? I am more than happy to retire if you would prefer to be alone.”
He smiled at her and warmth pooled in her core.
“No, indeed, I would be glad to speak to you,” he replied, gesturing for her to come and sit down. “I have a few things I need to apprise you of as well.”
She sat down carefully, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh?”
He waved a hand. “They will come later.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment or two, his smile remaining fixed. “I was just thinking about our conversation last evening. I was sorry to hear of your brother’s treatment of you. I can understand now why you appeared so upset when you first arrived.”
She laughed, wincing just a l
ittle. “Yes, indeed. It was all a bit of a shock.” Recalling how she had been dropped at the bottom of the driveway with her four bags, she shook her head ruefully. “The day I walked with my bags was only the beginning of all the changes I had come to expect. How glad I am that you have proven to be a kind and compassionate man, your grace. I have been truly blessed in coming here.”
“That is very good of you to say,” the duke murmured softly. “This home was once a place of deep sadness, and so I am relieved to know that you find it so appealing.”
Sophia’s breath caught, and she held it for a moment, waiting to see if the duke would say more whilst not wanting to pry. Sarah had never mentioned her mother, and aside from being aware that the duchess had passed away some years ago, Sophia was entirely in the dark about the lady.
“My wife passed away soon after bringing my daughter into this world,” the duke murmured, his gaze now lingering on the flickering flames of the fire. “It was a long, hard labor, and a fever set in.”
Her heart broke for him, wondering if his marriage had been a happy one and how much of a loss it had been for him to lose his bride.
“We were not long married,” he continued, a faraway look in his eyes, as he glanced back at her. “It was a marriage of convenience.” He shrugged, a sad smile on his face. “After all, it is what is expected of a duke.”
“I am terribly sorry, your grace,” Sophia whispered, a lump in her throat as she thought of him standing by his wife’s bedside with baby Sarah in his arms. “That must have been a very difficult time for you.”
He blinked and turned back to her, his eyes filled with sadness. “I did not care for her in the way I should have, Miss Weston, and I can assure you that she did not care for me in the least. Sarah was the only good thing that came from our marriage, aside from the connection created for both of our families.” His eyes glazed over, his lips twisting, as he frowned heavily, his voice low and husky. “I swore I would never be in that kind of situation again.”