Trapping a Duchess

by Michele Bekemeyer

  “You must be Lady Sophia,” she said, arranging her skirts as she gracefully sat. “Alexandra has told me so many wonderful things about you.”

  Sophie took the opportunity to redirect her gaze, trying not to pay attention to Andrew, who was crouched down opposite her on the blanket.

  “This bundle of energy is Lady Abigail,” Alexandra said.

  Abigail nodded and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you,” she said with a beaming smile. “And you simply must call me Abby. Alexandra talks about you so often, I feel as if we have known each other for years.” Her laugh was tinkering, gleeful and innocent.

  Sophie took her proffered hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is wonderful to meet you as well,” she said softly. Andrew's gaze was focused where their two hands were clasped and she felt, rather than saw, tension ripple through his frame. Resisting the urge to wriggle her fingers, she withdrew them. There was something perversely satisfying in knowing she wasn't the only one discomfited.

  “What brings you ladies to Hyde Park today?” Andrew asked, directing the question to his sister.

  “We ran into Simon at Gunter's. He didn't mention you were having a picnic,” she said, tossing Simon a vaguely scolding look. He answered with an insolent shrug.

  “Well, the more the merrier in my opinion,” Lady Abigail said, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. Her wide, eager smile was dimpled and her brown eyes sparkling as she turned her attention to the duke. As if infected, his lips curved and the edginess in his face seemed to fall away.

  The sight turned Sophie’s stomach. She wrapped her arms around her midsection as Lady Abigail began discussing how she and Andrew were feeding ducks.

  “His Grace and I have very different ideas of what the process entails.” She gave him a teasing look.

  “Your way is certainly more effective, my lady. I believe you won them all over.”

  Sophie slanted him a covert glance, wondering if he was smiling as broadly as it sounded. She frowned. He was staring at Lady Abigail as if the fate of the world rested in her hands. Equal parts uncharacteristic and annoying, it ratcheted her dislike of the girl a notch higher. She glanced around the park as discreetly as possible, searching for a reason to leave. She spotted her mother across the lawns visiting with the rest of the dowagers.

  “The four of you should join us at Vauxhall on Saturday,” Lord Courtland said, at the same moment Sophie had decided to rise. His words were directed at the group, but his hazel gaze rested on hers. Disarmed by his boyish grin, she found herself not only staying put, but smiling brilliantly in return. Across from her, Andrew cleared his throat.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful!” Abby said, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Please say you’ll come,” she said, looking around at the group, her flirtatious gaze coming to rest on Andrew's. “All of you.”

  “Sounds smashing,” Alexandra said.

  “Count me in,” Simon added, a smug grin on his face as he examined his fingernails. Of course, he would want to witness Sophie's torment.

  “What about you, Your Grace?” Lady Abigail asked.

  “Of course,” he said, and the girl’s unbridled enthusiasm served as Sophie’s proverbial straw.

  She could not take another second of being there. In one quick movement she stood, causing Alexandra to glance up at her. “Are you all right, Sophie?”

  “I am fine,” she answered quickly. “But the invitation reminded me of an important matter I need to discuss with my mother.” She gestured to where her mother was standing, as if that would explain her urgent need. Alexandra stood at once, followed immediately by Lord Courtland and, of course, the ever respectful duke. Somehow they had ended up standing close enough that their arms brushed. Taking a step back, Sophie put her hands out. “There is no need for you to cut your visit short, Alexandra,” she insisted. “Please don't leave on my account.”

  “‘Tis no issue, Sophie,” Alex said, moving to Sophie's side. “Besides, I should like to get Lady Winifred's opinion on that pattern we saw at Madame Dumont's.”

  “I'm certain she'll be riveted,” Simon said under his breath.

  Sophie shot him a dark look before facing Lady Abigail and Lord Courtland. “It was nice to see you again, my lord, and lovely meeting you, Lady Abigail.”

  “Likewise,” Lady Abigail answered, but her expression faltered as it moved from Sophie to Andrew. What did she see? Sophie wondered, tilting her head.

  Lord Courtland offered a stately bow. “Lady Sophia, it has been a pleasure.”

  “Thank you for the ice, my lord,” she said, offering a pretty curtsy.

  As Alex made her goodbyes, Andrew drew Sophie's attention his way. “I trust you will join me in taking Simon to task for his part in this awkwardness.”

  “Indeed I will,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Though he is not the only one whose behavior falls short of gentlemanly expectation. Enjoy the rest of your visit, Your Grace.” She curtsied dutifully, then stepped away. Linking her arm through Alexandra's, she directed them away from the group.

  As they headed towards the dowagers, Alex glanced at her askance. “Did you really wish to speak with your mother?”

  “Not especially,” Sophie sighed, wishing she had never agreed to go to Gunter's. The mango ice hadn’t been delicious enough to compensate for the ensuing discomfort.

  “Then let us change directions. We could chat with Lord Roxford. Or, if you're in the mood for something more challenging, we could try our hands at making polite conversation with Lady Araminda. She's just over there.”

  Sophie took in the woman's bird-like features and laughed. “You can be quite the inciter, when it suits you, Lex.”

  “One takes enjoyment where one can.”

  “And now you sound like my brother.”

  “Whose individual parts are far more tolerable than his sum. I suppose he's in for it for not mentioning Andrew was part of the picnic.”

  “I'd blacken the blackguard's eye, if he wouldn't cut off my pin money.”

  Alex burst out laughing. “Oh, Sophie, I adore you so. Without you, my life would be dull and intolerable.”

  “I'm so glad I can be of help.” She meant her dry tone to be light, but the burden of the afternoon rang through. Thank goodness there was only Alex to hear.

  Chapter Six

  Andrew kept a furtive eye on Sophie's retreating form as she made her way across the lawns. Her presence at their picnic had taken the wind right out of his sails. Worse than that, he thought. Seeing her brought forth a current of turbulent air that blew his boat right out of the water.

  “Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?” came Lady Abigail’s voice.

  “Pardon?” he asked, yanking his gaze to the woman with whom he was supposed to be enjoying the afternoon.

  “Zach and I were just discussing the number of events scheduled at the end of the season. There are so many balls and soirees, it's difficult to choose which ones to attend.”

  “Indeed,” Andrew said, trying not to sound as disinterested as he felt. Lady Abigail's cheerful chatter, so refreshing earlier in the day, was beginning to grate on his nerves. He didn't fault her for his change in attitude. Only when compared to the sophisticated Sophie did Lady Abigail seem callow. “I think you will find most invitations involve some manner of sacrifice or gain. Deciding which to accept comes down to weighing pros against cons.”

  A bemused smile curved her lips. “In other words, the best approach is to choose the event that tips the scale in my favor?”

  “Or, failing that, do what I do. Choose the one with the best food.” Her eyes widened and she cleared her throat. “I'm only kidding,” he said, deciding to rescue her.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding relieved. He wondered if she was incapable of appreciating dry humor or if she was somewhat of a prude.

  “Speaking of food,” Simon said, pushing away from the tree he was leaning against, “we should depart.” Andrew stood and offered his hand to help
Lady Abigail up.

  “Thank you for the pleasant outing, Your Grace,” she said softly.

  He feathered a light kiss across her knuckles, eliciting a shiver through her petite frame. “The pleasure, I assure you, was mine.” She beamed; he knew that she would.

  “I shall see you at Vauxhall, day after tomorrow?”

  “If not before then,” he said smoothly, then nodded to her brother. “Courtland.”

  “Your Grace.”

  As he and Simon made their way to White's, Andrew’s thoughts turned again to Sophie. Given the tension he still felt when around her, he would do well to give her a wide berth. Apart from spending his evenings at home, he wasn't sure how to accomplish such a thing. Like most ladies of her station, she was invited everywhere.

  “You have been quiet,” Simon said, as soon as they were seated. With a quick signal, a waiter was on his way with a decanter of brandy.

  Andrew waited until the man had bowed and departed, then answered. “I was thinking the same about you.” His tight-lipped grin was mocking.

  “Do you want to tell me why you dragged me out there today?” Simon asked, leaning back in his chair and looking annoyed.

  “Not particularly,” Andrew said as he filled their snifters.

  Simon's eyebrows lifted. “I forgot how very young young ladies can be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Abigail is quite different from your usual sport.”

  “I suppose if I had usual sport,” Andrew countered, bracing his arms behind his head, “then one might say that.”

  His oldest friend eyed him over the rim of his glass. “And?”

  “Ask your question, Simon.”

  “Fine. Do you intend to marry her?”

  Andrew took a moment to formulate his response. “It is past time I took a bride and sired an heir. We have had this discussion already, have we not?”

  Simon answered with a nod, then downed his brandy in one long gulp, sucking in a satisfied breath. “Christ, that’s good. Have you made your intentions known to Courtland?” Andrew continued toying with his glass and ignored Simon’s question. “You do not need me to accompany you if you wish to court the chit. Courtland’s presence satisfies propriety’s requirements.”

  He shot him an annoyed look. “I am aware of the requirements. I have not been away from society long enough to have forgotten the lesson.”

  “A fancy declaration coming from the man who requested my sister’s presence, alone in a carriage, less than twenty-four hours ago,” Simon countered. “You will forgive me if I am unconvinced that you remember the governing conduct.”

  “I had good reason for that, and you know it.”

  “Answer my question, then. Why did you drag me along, if not to play chaperone?”

  He traced the rim of his glass with his finger, inwardly cursing his insecurities. “I brought you along,” he ground out, “because I wanted to get your opinion of the lady.”

  “What?” Simon let out a bark of laughter. “Firstly, Drew, at eighteen—”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Fine, nineteen, she can hardly be considered a lady. Secondly, what does my opinion matter?” He leaned back in his chair, punctuating his question with a contemptuous look. “She won’t be married to me.”

  “I am asking because I trust you. I know that you would never let me make another mistake like I did before.” For a long moment, he lost himself in the swirl of his drink.

  “With my sister, you mean?” Simon asked, his voice free of the protectiveness Andrew expected. Simon grinned smugly as he refilled their snifters. “As I do not share your emotional uncertainty, I will say this and nothing more. What happened between you and my sister is in the past. It has little to do with the present and nothing at all to do with your future.”

  Andrew raked his hand through his hair and rubbed his neck. Simon's words reminiscent of the ones running through his head nearly constantly. “I know. I just seem to have no head for this type of thing.”

  “What man does?” Simon laughed. “You are choosing a wife; a vessel which will provide the duchy's next generation.”

  “Not to add any more pressure to the situation,” he muttered around his drink.

  Simon grew serious. “You are no fool, Drew, so stop acting like one. You are the bloody Duke of Tolland. There isn't a single woman out there who would refuse the chance to become your duchess.”

  “Apart from your sister.”

  “Whose opposition is to marriage in general, and has nothing to do with you.”

  Andrew could not hide his curiosity. He had always considered Sophie's abandonment a reflection of her feelings about him as a person. To learn she did not want to wed at all was surprising. “Has she given a reason for her aversion?”

  “Not one which makes a damn bit of sense, which is why I am convinced she needs a husband now more than ever. With each passing day, her resolve strengthens. If I don't marry her off soon, I'll never be able. And I'll have to hear about the failure from my mother for the rest of my days.”

  Andrew chuckled.

  “I am serious,” he said, his lip curling into a sneer.

  “I can see that you are,” he said, grinning.

  “She will take a husband, if I have to choose one for her, and drag her to the altar.”

  “You'll have to resort to underhanded behavior to get her there,” he said, his teasing smile meant to hide the turmoil Simon's declaration had wrought. She will take a husband.

  Simon lifted his glass in salute. “It will always be by way of pain that one arrives at pleasure.”

  “Voltaire?”

  “De Sade,” he said with an impudent grin. “Now, let us move on and discuss something of import. I saw a team of Arabians at Tattersall's yesterday.” Andrew listened as Simon described the horses and prattled on about their attributes. He smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, while his pricked pride repeated Simon's declaration until he was nearly crazed. She will take a husband.

  Preferably someone I don’t know and never have to see again. Ever. He stiffened, then covered the movement by resting his leg on his knee.

  “Dinner tomorrow?” Simon was asking, his gaze searching.

  “What? Oh, yes. At eight sharp. You are still coming, yes?”

  “Absolutely,” Simon said, rising. “I never miss an opportunity for a good meal. Especially when it’s funded by your coffers.”

  “Of course,” Andrew said, following him. “I will see you at dinner, then. Unless by some bizarre twist of fate, you plan on attending Lady Morgan’s musicale?”

  Simon's nose crinkled. “Gads, no. I value my hearing far too much.”

  Andrew laughed. “As do we all. Alas, I promised Alexandra I would accompany her. Lady Abigail will be there. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity to further my aims.” And put the notion of a blond haired, blue eyed minx out of his head once and for all.

  * * * *

  Sophie adjusted the sleeves of her gown as she made her way downstairs. The day had started out as usual—a large breakfast shared by Simon and mother followed by a relaxing hour of reading the latest gossip rag in the library. She was on her way back to her bedchamber when the knocker sounded on the front door. She didn't think too much of it, given her mother Louise's extensive social schedule, but the sound of a man's voice grabbed her attention, holding her captive at the top of the staircase.

  Within moments, Carlton was climbing the stairs towards her, an ivory card resting on his salver. “You have a caller, Lady Sophia.”

  “Who is it?” she asked in a hushed tone. The butler did not answer, but his lips twitched as she took the ivory card. Marquis of Courtland. “Pray inform his lordship that I will join him momentarily.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  She kept her pace slow as she made her way to her bedchamber. While rustling skirts and pounding footsteps were more in alignment with the excitement coursing through her, decorum was require
d. In her bedchamber, however, enthusiasm took hold. She moved quickly, brushing and pinning her hair, and made sure her gown was not wrinkled. A few pinches of the cheeks later and she was stepping through the doorway to greet him. “Good morning, my lord,” she said, offering a respectful curtsy.

  “I apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said, looking uneasy as he bowed. “I am one of those early risers who tends to forget everyone else isn't.”

  “Oh, it is no bother. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa, surprised when he did not sit. “I could ring for tea?”

  “No, thank you.” He stared out the window for a long moment, shifting from foot to foot. “I was on my way to parliament when I passed your home and it occurred to me that I didn't. . .I mean, I wanted to yesterday, but didn't. . .” He cleared his throat, drawing in a deep breath. “What I am trying to ask, most inarticulately, is if you would accompany me to the Lindford ball tomorrow evening?” She tamped down a triumphant squeal. “If you don't already have an escort, that is,” he added quickly.

  “I—”

  “If you do, I understand. It's just—”

  Normally Sophie wouldn't dare interrupt when someone was talking, but Lord Courtland looked as if he might have an apoplexy if he didn't have her answer. Besides, she wanted him to know that she found the offer to her liking. “I would love to.”

  It seemed to take a moment for her acceptance to sink in, but finally, his lips curved into a boyish smile. “Oh. Excellent.” An unspoken excitement danced between them, and she could almost see them waltzing through the air.

  “I should be on my way.” The words sounded forced, as if he did not want to say them.

  “I will see you tomorrow evening, then.” She curtsied again, then followed him to the door.

  “Good day, Lady Sophia.”

  “Good day, my lord.” She stared at the closed door for a long moment, stunned at her good fortune, before instructing Carlton to deliver a note to Alexandra.

  Once returned to her bedchamber, she considered the marquis. Despite his nervous invitation, Lord Courtland was a confident man. Cultured and playful, he had an irrepressible youthfulness which lit his entire bearing. The more time she spent with him, the more suitable she found him. If she was to be forced into a union, she would prefer to do it with a man like him, whose relaxed nature offered a glimpse into the future of freedom for which she longed.