“No doubt he has brought fleas into this house,” his mother howled, furious. “Send him out this instant, Wesley.”
Gazing at her with calm equanimity, the cook and kitchen staff staring at the floor while their ears flapped at the quarrel between their betters, Wesley continued. “My house. My dog. He stays.”
Wesley arched a brow at his mother’s shocked expression, her open mouth. “As Phillip never steps foot in your chambers,” he said, “I am certain you will not encounter any pests should you choose to remain within them.”
“Where did you obtain this cold heart when it comes to me, your mother?” she asked, her tone one that fully intended to make Wesley feel guilty.
This time, however, it did not work.
Dismissing the eavesdropping servants with a wave of his hand, he eyed his mother with calm, not letting her see his annoyance, as the staff retreated, with bows and curtseys, into the kitchen.
“I am not treating you any differently than usual, Mother,” he said, his voice even. “If you choose to believe that I am, then that is your prerogative, but do not attempt to make me feel guilty. Perhaps I have grown up more than you wish I had.”
Offering her a small, polite bow, more of an inclination of his head, he stepped around her. Snapping his fingers to summon Phillip, Wesley surrendered his coat to a waiting footman, and then walked into the drawing room.
He always kept a few books in sideboard drawers in case he ever found himself without. Wesley pulled a tome on Greek philosophers from one of them, then sat in an armchair near the fire. In complete dog fashion, Phillip circled the rug in front of the hearth several times before dropping into a tight ball with a sigh.
“Brandy, Your Grace?”
“That would be nice,” Wesley answered the hovering footman. “Thank you.”
Troubled by his mother’s disposition toward Sophia—one moment joyfully planning a wedding, the next disparaging her—Wesley forced himself to concentrate on the book. There had been much written about the politics of the Ancient Greeks that he could apply to the philosophies of the current government he served.
Yet, even as he studied the ideas Sophocles presented, Wesley found his mother’s angry face super-imposed over the words he tried to read. Her attitude perplexed him, and no matter how he tried to insist that it would pass soon enough, he could not quite convince himself.
Chapter 25
Sophia spent much of the following day in the library, picking up one book after another, unable to concentrate on a single one for more than five minutes. She had not told a soul about the information regarding Wesley the Dowager Duchess had disclosed the day before at tea. Now she tried to mesh the Wesley she knew and loved with Wesley the womanizer his mother said he was.
“This makes no sense,” Sophia finally exploded, slamming the book closed, gazing furiously at the fire on the hearth. “Rumors abound like ticks on a rabbit when people behave in the fashion she described.”
She remembered the scandals attached to the Earl of Westhaven a few years ago. Rumors swirling of the number of ladies he had seduced, other gentlemen’s wives among them, wild parties with the attendees drinking and laughing as one normally expects at a party—except they had no clothes on.
“Let us say that what Her Grace said was true,” she surmised, trying to be logical. “Wesley enjoys the company of women. However, there have been no rumors or scandal attached to him. In fact, his reputation is one that women have felt shunned by him, as he had little interest in them or their company.”
“So,” she asked herself, frowning, nibbling her lip. “How can one deduce that the gentleman who keeps the company of loose women is also the gentleman who prefers his books to the company of any woman at all?”
Rising from her chair, she paced to the window and stared out at the grey day. “Two different people do not coexist within one person. Not outside fiction, anyway. Thus, one might assume that Wesley is very discreet about his affairs. If he was so discreet, how does his mother know about it, and yet the ton does not?”
Sophia paced around the window and then the library in general, her head down, thinking hard. She recalled her first impression of Wesley—a gentleman who disdained parties and the social niceties that go along with being a member of high society. And yet that very same ton accepted him as one of their own, and not an outcast.
“Surely they would shun him, rather than try to get him interested in their daughters. No terrible rumor or scandal has touched Wesley, and no gentleman can possibly be that discreet if he behaved the way his mother said he did.”
So which is right? The ton or his mother?
Just then the door opened, and her Father put his head in, his pipe in in his mouth with a faint trail of smoke issuing from it. His eyes widened slightly at seeing her standing, and not in a chair reading.
“Ah, Sophia,” he said, stepping further in. “You are not reading? I do believe you have just shocked me. Do not do that, you will injure my heart.”
Sophia chuckled. “I am thinking, Papa. I do that from time to time.”
“Oh. Yes, well. Young ladies are not supposed to do that, but given your penchant for reading and learning, I should expect that thinking would also be part of your repertoire. Just keep your opinions to yourself. Please?”
“I will endeavor to do so, Papa,” Sophia answered with a grin. “Were you looking for me?”
“Ah, yes, in fact I was. I do apologize, for I am in remiss in informing you that I had invited Bersard to dinner this evening.”
A wave of joy coupled with trepidation over the Dowager Duchess’s revelation made her head swim. “His Grace will be here? For dinner?”
Her Father smiled. “I do believe I just said that. I will not say it again as I despise repeating myself.”
Her smile fading, Sophia pondered how she might ask a question without revealing her suspicions, or the Duchess’s words. “Papa,” she said slowly, “how does one really ascertain someone’s true character?”
His own warm expression vanishing, her father closed the door behind him, and gestured for Sophia to sit in an armchair while he sat in another.
“I will not ask why you want to know,” he replied, his eyes on the fire, puffing his pipe. “I believe I can guess. There are a number of ways, I suppose. You can examine his words and deeds, and decide if they are akin to one another. If his words say one thing, his deeds another, the deeds always win. Deeds seldom lie.”
Sophia nodded. “I can see that.”
“You can always make inquiries of other people, of course,” the Duke went on. “People will generally speak the truth about what they know. I expect that thieves, for instance, will lie for one another while honest people would not. Thus, if you were to inquire of a neutral party, I am certain you will discover close to the truth.”
“Friends will not find fault, while an enemy always will,” Sophia commented.
“Exactly. In addition, one must examine who your person associates with. If your person runs with others known for their dubious character, then your person would most likely have one himself. If he associates with those of outstanding character, then he will most likely have a good background and is of sure quality.”
“Like calls to like,” Sophia added, thinking of how alike she and Wesley were, and they certainly had been drawn to one another.
Her Father nodded, putting his pipe back between his teeth and sucked on it. “You do not need me pointing out what you know already.”
Sophia smiled. “Perhaps. But I like to have confirmation of my thoughts.”
“If I did not think the Duke of Bersard were not of a sterling character, I would not have permitted your engagement.”
Blushing, Sophia looked down. “I have heard—things—that may indicate he is not such a wonderful catch after all.”
The Duke removed his pipe from his mouth, and frowned. “May I ask what things?”
“Please, Papa, not at this time,” she pleaded. “Permi
t me to do a small bit of investigating first. I must do this on my own.”
“If I am agreeing to marry my daughter to a scoundrel, I wish to know about it.”
“And you will, if I find sufficient evidence that he is or is not. I have no desire to cloud your judgment of him.” She glanced away. “I am fearing I have clouded my own by listening to this person who told me things.”
“Then perhaps I might point out a person you may wish to talk to,” he said with a smile. “I will arrange for you to meet with him, chaperoned, of course, within the next few days. If he cannot ease your mind about your husband-to-be, then perhaps you should not marry him after all.”
Sophia gazed at him with hope shining in her eyes. “And this person is a neutral party?”
“Indeed. And when you meet him, you will understand why I recommend him. He is above reproach.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Sophia exclaimed. “I feel so much better now.”
“Good. I will speak with this party, and arrange a meeting between you. Now it is time to change for dinner. I expect Bersard will be punctual this time.” He certainly had an amused twinkle in his eyes as he spoke.
Laughing, Sophia gave him a quick embrace as he stood, which clearly embarrassed him. He awkwardly patted her shoulder, clearing his throat.
“Yes, well, I am off to change as well.” the Duke ambled to the library door, puffing his pipe as he went. Pausing before opening it, he half turned toward Sophia. “One other small piece of advice, daughter,” he said quietly. “When it comes to information and its credibility, always consider the source.”
That last bit of instruction from her father made Sophia think hard as she changed, washed, and sat still for Erin to brush her hair and pin it up in the latest fashion.
His own mother told me. Why would his mother—?
Sophia stiffened as she recalled how the Dowager Duchess treated her as though she were mud she scraped off her shoes. Of how she snubbed Sophia while informing Sophia’s parents she was not good enough to marry her son. How the Duchess was determined that Wesley should marry Lady Alicia.
Is that not easier than trying to dissuade Wesley from marrying me? By informing me that the gentleman I love is a womanizer and a cheat? To convince me to look elsewhere for a husband?
“I am such a fool,” she murmured to her reflection.
“I do not think so, m’lady,” Erin told her.
“That is nice of you to say.” Sophia smiled. “Thank you. Now I must go have dinner with my betrothed.”
Arriving precisely on time, Wesley walked lightly up the steps to the Wellingson home, and tapped on the door with his walking stick. To the butler, he presented his calling card, but before he had a chance to say he was expected for dinner, the butler, bowing low, swung the door wide.
Nonplussed, Wesley stepped into the warm foyer of the house, and stripped off his hat, gloves and outer coat, leaving them in the hands of what he now construed as a very cranky butler. Passing the stairs, a figure descending them caught his attention, and he paused, looking up.
Radiant in her beauty, Sophia stepped with a sedate, almost royal, decorum, down the stairs, forcing Wesley to catch his breath. He grinned, unable to help himself, at her tiny waist, her huge honey eyes and that smile. That smile captivated him, for he knew it was just for him.
Wishing he could kiss her as she reached the bottom, but knowing the stern visage of the cantankerous butler watched his every move, Wesley contented himself with winking at her. Sophia’s grin widened.
“You are the loveliest creature in the realm,” he breathed, wondering of the old man would object if he at least kissed her hand. Suspecting he would, Wesley merely stepped aside so she might stroll beside him to the dining room.
“And you are the handsomest man on this side of the sea,” Sophia replied with a light laugh. “It is so good to see you again.”
“I was overjoyed when your father extended the invitation,” he replied. “In person this time. No written missive for my mother to destroy.”
At the mention of his mother, Sophia’s smile faded. “Why does she not wish us to marry?” she asked.
“If I could answer that, I would,” Wesley answered, his expression changing to a small frown. “But I cannot, as hard as I try to understand her.”
As they reached the dining room door, the butler stepped around to open it for them, bowing as they passed him. The Duke and Duchess of Wellingson were already inside, the Duchess seated with the Duke stood near her, making conversation.
“Ah, Bersard,” Wellingson said, his smile and voice expansive. “What a pleasure to have you at table. I see you found my wayward daughter. I had feared I might be forced to drag her from the library.”
Wesley chuckled as Sophia blushed. “You might have also found me there, Wellingson,” Wesley said as the butler seated Sophia. “Deep in a book, or deep in a conversation with her as we discussed philosophy or The Iliad.”
“It would seem she and you were meant for one another. Come. Let us talk of social affairs. Never of business, not at dinner.”
Seated across from Sophia, Wesley could both admire her, and watch her lips as she joined the conversation regarding social justices and injustices. They spoke of whether the poor truly belonged in poverty, or if they could rise to better things, as well as the gossip that sprang from the palace.
“I feel it is a terrible thing to watch one’s beloved parent descend into madness as the Prince Regent has,” Wesley observed.
“For all his extravagance and desire for nothing save horse racing and balls,” Wellingson commented, “he will make a splendid king one day.”
Wesley raised his wineglass. “To the Prince Regent.”
His toast was echoed, the four of them drank the salute to their ruler. Then Sophia raised hers again. “To our blessed King George, may he find his soul in glory when his time comes.”
Wesley felt immense pride in Sophia as he echoed her toast, pleased in her ability to recognize and speak on the affairs at court and in Parliament.
Even if society frowns on it, I believe her opinions may make me a better government official.
Wesley drank from his glass, then held it toward Sophia. “Here is to my lovely fiancée,” he murmured. “May she never withhold her very intelligent and learned opinions from me.”
Chapter 26
Lord Montrose stepped down from his carriage into a brisk wind that threatened to seize his tall hat and sweep it away. Luckily it was not raining, but of course the wind would surely make a mess of his hair. Trotting up the steps to the Earl of Swinton’s townhouse, he knocked on the door, his calling card in his hand.
The butler, the twin to his own in looks and disdainful attitude, studied him and his card. “I wish to see Lady Alicia,” he said, fully expecting the door to swing wide and admit him.
“My Lord, she is not in residence at this time,” the butler intoned, looking down his long nose.
David’s smile wobbled. “She is not? May I ask where she is?”
“I do believe she and the Countess have been invited to pay a call on the Dowager Duchess of Bersard.”
“Ah.” David found that announcement both odd and worrisome. The Countess, Lady Alicia’s mother, wished for her to marry the Duke of Bersard. And now both his fiancée and her mother, who disliked David immensely, were visiting the Duke’s mother? “Yes. Well, thank you.”
The door almost closed in his face. David turned, then strode thoughtfully down the steps to his carriage. To his coachman, he said, “Take me to the home of the Duke of Bersard.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
His footman held the coach door open for him, and David climbed back inside, out of the wind where it could not steal his hat. As the coachman cracked the whip over his team of four, David removed his hat, and combed his fingers through his mussed hair. Staring pensively out the window at the passing scenery of Hyde Park, David felt a small tremor of unease affect the pit of his stomach.
“Surely Her Grace and the Countess will not conspire to marry their children together,” he murmured, his fist under his chin. “The banns have been cried, the documents signed. It is far too late to back out of either engagement now. Not without causing a great scandal.”
The fact that such an event would cause both families a terrible scandal all but reassured him the two ladies would never conspire to break up his plans to marry Lady Alicia, nor the Duke’s to marry Lady Sophia.
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