“I see.” Yes, he could. “Russell is loyal to the Crown, always has been, but he doesn’t dabble in politics.”
“He doesn’t have to.”
Max considered Julius’s request and nodded. “I’ll talk to him. Apprise him of the situation.” It would be a prudent move.
Julius took a turn around the room, his coat skirt swinging. He paused to give the clock on the mantelpiece an infinitesimal adjustment. “Russell should know that allying himself to us would make him unacceptable in some quarters. The duke would do anything to bring us down.” He turned back to face Max. The corner of his mouth quirked in a cynical half-smile. “Who knows? If we’d been on the losing side at Culloden, maybe we’d feel the same.”
Max took half a second to consider his opinion on that issue. “My father threw away his fortune on that huge monstrosity in Buckinghamshire rather than fight renegade Jacobites.”
“It’s very beautiful,” Julius, the lover of fine art protested.
“Some of it is. But who wants a palace? Especially one I can’t do anything with. I’d love to sell the thing. Would you buy it?”
Julius gave a hard laugh. “Not a chance. We have our own palace, and one is more than enough. At least it keeps my father busy.”
“Is your mother becoming a problem again?” Julius’s mother made concerted attempts to reclaim Helena, but now Julius had brought his aunt, Max’s mother, into the scene, Max wondered how matters would progress.
“No more than yours.”
Both men laughed.
“Maybe we should start a book at White’s,” Max said. “On the winner and how long it will take.” His mood sobered. “But seriously, now I’m marrying, we can offer Helena a haven, if she wishes it. Even at the mausoleum.”
“I appreciate it.” Julius crossed the room to Max and held out his hand. “I haven’t said congratulations.”
Max shook his hand briskly. “Thank you. Not something I expected to happen anytime soon, but I have to admit, I couldn’t have done better from my personal point of view.”
Julius frowned. “You love her?”
Max would have laughed, but Julius appeared too serious for him to mock. Then Max remembered what he should never have forgotten; Julius’s own doomed love. He’d adored the woman he married—wild, bad, troubled Lady Caroline Foster. Julius had fallen completely for the delicate but beautiful woman, and when she’d died, many of the family had heaved sighs, very quietly so nobody would hear. Julius had frozen since her death five years ago, become the icicle some claimed.
That would make little Caroline six. Yes, the child was six. Sad that he could remember when Caro had died, but not when Caroline was born. If not for the child, Julius would have become completely sealed off, but he adored his daughter. The rest of the family loved her for helping him, however unwittingly, to keep part of himself alive.
Max thought of an appropriate answer. “Sophia’s attractive, intelligent, and I like her.” More than that he’d keep to himself. He couldn’t admit how much the idea of having her in his bed excited him because he didn’t understand or trust it.
“It’s a good start,” Julius said. “Better than many people have.”
Chapter 5
Sophia went through her wedding with an air of disbelief.
She met her groom at the altar, but in one way he hadn’t left her since she’d visited his house on Friday. She’d tried shopping to get his face out of her mind. She’d stopped at the Royal Exchange and purchased a new fan and gloves. But when she got home she wondered what she’d been thinking to buy a fan in such a lurid shade of pink. How could people produce such a violent color, and why would they? It was a poor impulse purchase like the gown of blue silk that had seemed so pretty on the bolt but once made up, didn’t suit her at all.
She wasn’t considering purchases or practical matters. All she recalled was his kiss. It kept replaying in her mind, the way their lips had met and melded. The way their bodies had pressed together and her heart had leaped, just once, as if it wanted to join his. More of those, and she’d be good for nothing.
She didn’t use the fan or the gown for her wedding, but she did wear the gloves, which she had to take off at the altar when Max slid the ring on her finger. He’d chosen a single emerald with diamonds either side. Although she was no expert, Sophia knew a beautiful gem when she saw it. Clear, with color as true and pure as his eyes, the ring would remind her of him when he wasn’t with her.
She’d never escape him, even if she wanted to.
She’d never seen Max so carefully dressed. When he was in the City, he wore plain clothes of excellent quality, as most merchants did, and if he attended a City function, he dressed soberly but finely. Not in shimmering scarlet with gold embroidery as he did today. He wore a wig, too, even though he’d grown his natural hair long and normally wore it tied it back with a black velvet ribbon. At least he didn’t wear full maquillage, unlike his cousin Julius, Lord Winterton, who appeared unearthly in his magnificence.
Lord Winterton made Sophia fear him in this guise. Truthfully, she suspected he’d intimidate her anyway. He carried an aristocratic hauteur she had no idea how to counter.
At least she wasn’t marrying him. A mere marquess, not a duke’s heir. Not that the notion made her feel much better.
Most of Max’s cousins attended the wedding breakfast, the panoply of the Emperors of London with outlandish names like Nicephorus and Marcus Aurelius. They held the breakfast at Max’s town house, now her home. Her belongings would arrive, if they hadn’t already, together with her maid. Even the ugly fan and the blue gown.
Apart from that clandestine visit last Friday, Sophia had never visited the house before. She knew the main rooms because all modern town houses had similar layouts. The ground floor contained smaller parlors and bookrooms or studies, the first, up the sweeping, elegant staircase, the drawing-rooms, music rooms, and farther up the grand bedrooms. She moved around the large salon with feigned confidence she was far from feeling inside. Reminding herself that this house was merely her father’s house writ large, she went upstairs on her husband’s arm and took charge of her domain.
The furniture was upholstered in pale ivory, and the wood polished to within an inch of its life. She’d be afraid to touch it, lest she leave fingerprints. Or to sit on the sofas, in case she left dust or dropped crumbs on the surface. Extravagance had a price.
Today she wore her best pale green with a white embroidered petticoat and stomacher, with her mother’s pearls, a set so fine few could equal it. She’d felt well dressed until she saw some of the Emperors, and the Empresses, sisters and wives both. Still, the pearls could match anything they had to offer.
Her new mother-in-law approached her, smiling graciously. The title suited this lady much more than it did Sophia.
The dowager presented her hand as if she meant Sophia to bow over it, but she knew better. She touched it with her gloved fingers and lowered her eyes for a second, indicating respect but not deference. Respect for age and a prior holder of the title. The one she now held.
Lady Devereaux was a few inches shorter than Sophia, but that didn’t give Sophia the advantage. Rather the opposite, as her ladyship had the bearing of a queen. And this was the lady who traveled from relative to relative acting as unpaid companion? Sophia found it hard to believe. Her ladyship’s gown of cream watered silk was as fine as her own, and her diamonds gleamed in the light of the bright spring day.
“I am delighted to make your ladyship’s acquaintance,” she ventured. Any show of shyness, and the woman would eat her up like a crocodile savoring a little fish.
“The feeling is mutual, I vow.” The aristocratic drawl she affected was completely absent in her son. He wouldn’t have lasted long in the City had he used that. They’d have laughed at him while they took his money. But the older lady’s speech made her appear even more daunting. “A little odd to marry this early in the season.”
> “I’m no debutante,” Sophia said and felt obliged to add, “But my mother was.”
Her ladyship’s gaze focused on something in the far distance, and then returned to Sophia. “Ah yes. Lady Mary Howard. She was a taking little thing in her day, but somewhat wild, they always said. We thought it very strange when she married…your father.”
A man from the City. One in Trade, or at least servicing it, for her father’s main concerns were shipping and insurance. Would it have been better had he been a country squire? It could have been worse.
Sophia had no way of assessing the nuances of the way society judged people outside its purview. “My father was a perfectly suitable husband for her.” She glanced at Max, busy in conversation with an older man she didn’t recognize.
With only a slight glance to one side, the dowager swept up a glass of wine held on a tray by a servant who was heading past her. Sophia would have tumbled the whole tray had she tried that. She took a sip of her own wine, the cut glass winking in the sunshine coming in through the window.
“I daresay you wish me to introduce you to society?” the dowager said.
Sophia hated that she had to say this, but if she wanted peace between Max and his mother, she would have to. “I would consider it a great favor, my lady.”
“Indeed.” The dowager accepted the tribute as her due. “I will view my invitations and arrange matters.”
“Will you move back to the house?” Sophia said.
Immediately the dowager shook her head. “I shall remain with dear Helena, and naturally Poppea will remain with me. They need me. Julius is interviewing suitable candidates for the post of governess to his daughter and companion for his sister, but it will take some time. He will be hard put to find one who fits his exacting standards, but I’m hopeful that he’ll find success. However, I will not be far away.”
This house was close to Grosvenor Square, set on one of the gracious streets nearby, the exterior white stucco, the interior all fashionable elegance. Sophia had not seen the room she was to occupy as the Marchioness of Devereaux, but she feared it already. If it was white or ivory, she’d have it changed tomorrow. If she dared. She needed one room to be comfortable in. Surely someone could be comfortable and fashionable at the same time?
Lost, adrift, Sophia planted her feet on the Aubusson carpet and waited on events, smiling and pretending to drink from her glass. Until the glass was empty and pretense had become reality. She took another one.
“Welcome to the family,” a soft, feminine voice said.
When she spun around, Sophia nearly lost her drink. As it was, she had to contain the sloshing by holding it aside. Another black mark for her. She wasn’t usually this gauche but then, she wasn’t usually facing a wedding night with a man she barely knew, fighting impulses she didn’t know what to do with.
She smiled at the lovely golden-haired woman standing before her and searched her memory for names. “Lady Ripley,” she said eventually. “Thank you.”
“Connie, please,” the lady said. “I’m a relative by marriage, still getting used to the great Emperors. I’m a countrywoman at heart.”
Married to the dark handsome man laughing with his cousin across the room. Lord Ripley, heir to the Earl of Leverton. Goodness, all these titles made Sophia’s head spin. As bad as remembering which guild the man her father wanted her to meet belonged to and which coffee houses he frequented to conduct his business. Her problem was she had to commit both those spheres of influence to her memory now.
“I’ve never lived in the country,” she confessed. “Unusual for an Englishwoman, I know, but not in the City. Most of us reside there all year round. We have a small house in the country, but we rarely go there.” At Connie’s arched brow, she gave a shamefaced laugh. “That is, my father and I. I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get accustomed to my new status.”
“One step at a time,” Connie said. “Take it slowly, and it will come to you. Remember when people say ‘My lady,’ they’re referring to you. That took some getting used to. I keep turning around to look for Lady Ripley.”
Sophia was surprised to discover she could smile. Even laugh.
Connie added, “Of course, I’m only a baroness. Alex’s title is a courtesy one, but you married straight into the aristocracy.” She lowered her voice. “Devereaux tends to intimidate me, although I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. He’s so clever! Please don’t tell him, because he is always so kind. But I have never been comfortable in the presence of people who can add a column of figures three times and get the same answer.”
Sophia wouldn’t tell her she could do it too, because this was the first person in this room to show her friendship.
Connie had clear blue eyes, and her lovely complexion was a thing of pellucid beauty. Everything Sophia had prayed for in her blemish-ridden, fluffy-hair days when she was supposed to be serene. Even this morning, she’d discovered a freckle on the upper slopes of her bosom and despaired all over again. Too high to cover with her fichu, which in any case was a gauzy silk affair and not her usual practical linen.
Connie’s husband glanced across the room, and his attention fixed and held on his wife. Slowly he smiled, and it was a wonderful sight. It demonstrated all his love and devotion with no excuses and no concessions to anyone watching.
In that instant, Sophia’s ambitions crystallized. She wanted her husband to look at her that way. As if the world revolved around her.
If only she’d known she wanted that before she married Devereaux! He was never likely to give her that kind of regard. He’d be considerate, in his way, and in time she could hope for an equitable relationship with him, but love? She doubted that. They’d agreed to marry for separate reasons of their own, but love didn’t feature in any of them. Nobody would ever adore her like that.
Loneliness seized her in a tidal wave of despair. She had to fight to prevent any trace of it appearing on her face.
After a word to Sophia’s husband, Lord Ripley set off across the room to join his wife. Devereaux accompanied him, and they arrived to claim their ladies, but Devereaux offered his arm for Sophia to lay her hand on and Ripley shamelessly ogled his lovely wife. Her response was to laugh.
Devereaux regarded them with indulgence, but when he turned to Sophia, his expression was coolly polite. But that expression the Ripleys exchanged had reminded her painfully of that kiss last Friday. For once, everything except the moment fell away.
She’d hoped to—what? Panic had driven her as much as any plan. She’d wanted to see him, try to understand what lay behind the handsome, controlled exterior, but she was no nearer that than before, when he’d been merely another of her father’s business colleagues. “We will be going in to the dining room soon,” he murmured to her. “Are you familiar with precedence?”
The rigid rules by which society conducted itself on formal occasions demanded that the hostess was aware of who went in with whom. At last something she could do. She knew all the ranks present today, and firmly putting personal considerations aside, she went about arranging people into the correct groupings.
* * * *
“That will please your mother,” Alex said to Max as they watched Sophia efficiently and graciously go about her duties.
Max grunted. “Nothing about Sophia pleases her at the moment. She’s not moving back home. She’s staying with Helena.”
Alex raised a dark brow. “Your mother could make Sophia’s entrance into society easier.”
“I believe she knows that.” Max had no illusions about his mother. “Sophia has to prove to her that she’s a worthy cause.”
Alex hummed. “It could be worse.”
As one of the few people who knew Connie’s difficult path to love, Max understood what he meant. Alex had determinedly forced his wife on society, and now they had little choice, since she had the backing of the rest of the family. The Emperors would not be denied.
“Be bold,” Alex s
aid. “It’s the only way.”
“She has the strength to do it.” Max knew that much about his new wife. “I have faith in her abilities to win society over.”
“How about you?” Alex asked quietly.
Max shot him a puzzled glance. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Will she win you over? Has she done it already?”
Max raised a brow, giving his cousin a quizzical smile. “I am not unhappy, if that’s what you mean. Don’t expect everyone to find the kind of bliss you and Connie share.”
“At least we proved it’s possible, even in this family.”
“Even? Nic’s mother found true love.”
“At the second attempt. You know her husband well, don’t you?”
“He’s a City man, and yes, I do meet him from time to time.” Max recalled Thaddeus Beaumont, who was in a different line of business, but their paths crossed occasionally. “Aunt Frederica seems happy with him.” Like the rest of the family, he’d breathed a sigh of relief when his aunt remarried a man who gave her the tranquility she needed after the turbulent first attempt.
“I like her.” Julius had joined them.
He had two ways of moving. One was the flamboyant one, accompanied by the click of heels, the rustle of expensive fabric and waves of subtle but distinctive scent. The second was silent as a cat. This was the cat. Max had no idea how he did it, but he’d have paid dearly to know.
“My wife?”
“Yes, dear boy, your wife.” Julius stood behind them, speaking low so only they could hear. “She has grace and poise. And a determination that I don’t think you’ll find it easy to overcome. I’d advise you not to.”
What was this familial love for Sophia? She was winning over his family effortlessly. “I should have done this years ago, then. From what you say, I’ve married a saint.”
Sophia, in the process of linking the people to go in to dinner, glanced at him. Had she heard him? He hoped not. He hadn’t meant his comment to be as waspish as it sounded, but he was finding this day somewhat of a strain. Social occasions could be a trial, not to mention tedious, and this was no exception.
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