by Anne Ashley
Unable to suppress a self-deprecating half-smile, he gazed across the short distance which separated them. "When I embarked on this somewhat shameful escapade—yes, I did say shameful, brother," he reiterated, when Nicholas betrayed surprise, "my reasons for doing so were purely selfish. I wished to know Sophia Cleeve a good deal better before committing myself to any lasting attachment. Ashamed though I am to admit to it, it is true none the less that in the past I have not infrequently fallen victim to a pretty face, and know full well that infatuation is a flame which may burn brightly for a time, but is seldom lasting."
"And has the short period working in the Yardley stables extinguished the flame of desire altogether?" Nicholas prompted when Benedict, his expression completely unreadable now, fell silent and fixed his attention on the empty grate.
"No, it has not. If anything it burns brighter than ever...But, then, what I feel for the Earl of Yardley's only daughter has little to do with infatuation."
He raised his eyes to meet his brother's interested gaze. "I am very much in love with her," he freely admitted, in a voice that, although lacking any vestige of emotion, sounded totally sincere. "If I had searched the length and breadth of the land I do not believe I could have found a woman who would have suited me better. And I can only thank Providence for ensuring that our paths crossed that morning in Bond Street."
Approval was the last thing Benedict had sought, for he considered that his choice of Duchess was his and his alone, and yet he found himself experiencing no little annoyance at the look of mild concern which momentarily flickered across his sibling's boyish features.
"Evidently you do not wholeheartedly approve my choice."
"Oh, no, no! It isn't that exactly," Nicholas hurriedly assured him, easily detecting the sudden steely element in the deep voice. "I like Sophia. She's a grand girl—one of the best. In all the weeks I've known her, I've never once heard her utter a spiteful remark about any other young woman making her London debut. What's more,'' he continued, warming to the subject, "she's the sort of girl a chap can talk to without his having to mind what he says all the time. She enjoys a good joke, and never needs things explained twice. Which is a great deal more than can be said for most of the little darlings gracing the town this Season."
This was high praise indeed, but Benedict was not slow to notice that the faintly troubled look still lingered in young eyes. "So you harbour slight reservations as to whether she would make a suitable Duchess, is that it?" he remarked, reading his brother's thoughts with uncanny accuracy, and Nicholas didn't attempt to deny it.
"Well, she ain't anything like our dear departed mama, now, is she?"
Reared from the cradle never to demean herself by the smallest display of emotion, their mother had been a cold, unapproachable woman. Not once, not even during his childhood, could Benedict recall receiving a loving word or gesture from his mother. It was little wonder that their father had not infrequently sought certain necessary comforts elsewhere, and Benedict, for one, had never thought any the worse of him for those frequent lapses.
"No, thank God!" he responded with feeling.
"Aye, she was an iceberg, right enough," Nicholas was forced to concede. "But you cannot deny, Ben, she knew her duty. She may not have been universally liked, not even by the members of her own family, but I lay a monkey that you've never heard it said that she ever behaved in a way which brought disgrace to the Risely name. Not that I think dear little Sophia would intentionally behave in a less than dignified manner," he hurriedly continued, fearing that he had expressed himself rather badly. "She's an earl's daughter, after all, and knows quite well how to conduct herself. The trouble is though, brother, she doesn't always behave as she ought, and she frequently utters the most outrageous things."
Benedict didn't attempt to come to his future Duchess's defence, simply because his brother had spoken no less than the truth. "I would be the first to admit that Sophia is not without her faults. Yes," he agreed, "she can be thoughtlessly impulsive on occasions. Disturbingly so!" he added, recalling clearly the little episode involving a certain unscrupulous Baronet. "She doesn't always consider carefully before she speaks, either." These to him were trifling flaws in what was otherwise an utterly charming character, consequently he didn't choose to dwell on them. "You must remember, though, that she's still very young, not yet one-and-twenty, and in some ways remains her doting papa's pampered darling. But I rather think that she is slowly beginning to free herself from the last of those paternal ties, and leave her girlhood behind."
He paused for a moment to study the filled decanters standing temptingly within easy reach on a nearby table and, suspecting that his abominably casual host would continue to forget his duties, decided to help himself to a large measure of brandy; the first he had sampled in many a long day.
"My life in recent weeks has not been without its enforced privations," he admitted, after tossing half the contents of the glass down his throat and savouring its taste. "Although I dare say my overall health has not suffered because of it, as I mentioned a little earlier, I shall not be sorry to return to my hitherto privileged existence."
This was something Nicholas could quite easily understand, and he was not slow to voice his wholehearted approval. "Well, thank the Lord for that! As far as I'm concerned the sooner you effect the transformation the better. All your new clothes have been delivered. They're upstairs in the spare bedchamber, just waiting for you. I'll ring for Figgins. He'll have you looking the part in a—"
"My purpose in coming here today was not to don my ducal robes," Benedict interrupted, his voice soft but determined.
"Then why the deuce did you come?" Nicholas was at a complete loss to understand his brother's reasoning. "You've just told me that Sophia is everything you could wish for in your future wife. You're quite obviously head-over-ears in love with the chit, so why continue any longer with the deception?"
A moment's silence, then, "Because I believe there is a very real possibility that I might lose her altogether if I reveal my identity too soon."
The deep lines which suddenly furrowed his brow were clear evidence of a troubled mind. "I have had sufficient experience of the fair sex over the years, Nick, to be sure that Sophia Cleeve is not indifferent to me. What I am not quite so certain of at this point in time is whether her evident regard is strong enough to withstand the knowledge that the man of whom she is daily growing more fond is nothing more than a pompous inveigler whose actions during the past few weeks were motivated by pure self-interest."
Managing a faint smile at his brother's astounded expression, Benedict tossed the remaining brandy down his throat before replenishing his glass from the slowly diminishing contents of the decanter at his elbow. He didn't doubt for a moment that Nicholas's astonishment stemmed from his inability to believe that any female in her right mind would ever consider for a moment refusing an alliance with the head of the noble Risely family. It was possibly true that most would not, but Sophia Cleeve belonged to that rare breed whose affections and loyalty could never be bought.
"Weeks ago," he continued meditatively, "when Sophia informed you that, in general, she preferred the companionship of servants, she wasn't being totally frivolous, you know," he remarked, in an attempt to help Nicholas understand. "She does feel a deal of contempt for the majority of her own kind, especially towards those who take flagrant advantage of their privileged positions to the detriment of less fortunate souls. And I cannot say I blame her for feeling as she does," he went on as the names Crawley and Sywell, together with those of several other unsavoury characters, flashed through his mind.
"But, at the same time, I cannot help wondering, Nick, what makes me suppose that I am in any way superior to those she holds in such low esteem. After all, have I not lied and deceived, and made use of those less fortunate than myself in order to attain my selfish ends?" There was little humour in his sudden shout of laughter. "For rank self-interest and arrant conceit Benedict Risely, Seven
th Duke of Sharnbrook, would, I very much fear, feature very near the top of darling Sophia's list of contemptuous peers of the realm."
He attempted to wash the bitter taste from his mouth with a further mouthful of amber liquid, but with little success. "My main objective during these past weeks has been to determine whether or not the Earl of Yardley's lovely daughter would make me a suitable wife. It never once crossed my mind to wonder whether I would make her a suitable husband. She is not likely to overlook that piece of crass arrogance on my part. Nor the fact that I have continually lied to her almost from the moment we met."
Nicholas, ever the optimist, voiced the belief that Sophia was not the kind of girl to take a pet over mere trifles, and was sure to forgive and forget once matters had been explained to her, but Benedict was not so certain.
"Perhaps," he conceded, after a few moments intense thought. "A great deal will depend, of course, upon choosing just the right moment to make a clean breast of everything. I can tell you now, brother, that I've been offered numerous opportunities to confide in her. Young, Sophia may be, but she's certainly no fool, and she has, unless I much mistake the matter, known from the start that I am not quite what I seem."
"Do you mean she suspects that you're Sharnbrook?"
Troubled though he was, Benedict could not help smiling at this. "No, she most certainly doesn't suspect that. In fact, I believe she's under the distinct impression that I'm some rich man's by-blow."
Nicholas almost choked. "Good gad!" he managed faintly, much to his brother's intense amusement.
"Yes, these past few weeks have certainly not lacked their lighter moments," Benedict admitted, before the reminiscent smile faded and he became serious again. "But time is no longer on my side. The last thing I want is for Sophia to discover my true identity from someone else. Which is not beyond the realms of possibility. Unfortunately I'm attaining a deal of unwanted attention at the moment."
No further explanations were necessary. "Ah, so you've heard what the tabbies have been saying about you both, have you?"
"Yes, I've heard. The gossip in itself doesn't worry me unduly, Nick, but the fact that I'm now being regarded with keen interest most certainly does. Sooner or later someone is going to recognise me."
Nicholas nodded, for once in complete agreement. "I saw your old friend Carstairs the other day, tooling his curricle along Piccadilly. And I know for certain that both Halstead and Melcham have arrived in town."
It was inevitable that sooner or later certain of his very close friends would descend on the capital, but this did not stop Benedict from cursing long and fluently under his breath. "If any one of those old reprobates catches a glimpse of me, I'm dished. Is our sister also in the capital, by any chance?"
"No, and isn't likely to be either, unless it's just for a day or two. I think I've mentioned before that darling Constance has lost her taste for town life." Nicholas took-a moment or two to ponder over their sister's surprising bent for country living, before bringing his mind back to the present and discovering that Benedict now appeared to have relapsed into a world of his own, where he seemed quite content to remain until he took his leave a few minutes later.
When the door had closed behind his caller Nicholas stared across at the empty chair, which still bore the imprint of his brother's well-muscled frame, and wondered just why he had been honoured with that unexpected visit.
Perhaps Benedict had simply wished to talk to someone, he mused, share his hopes and fears for the future. His big brother certainly hadn't come for the express purpose of seeking consent for his choice of Duchess. That much was certain! Benedict had made up his mind that he wanted Sophia Cleeve, and Nicholas didn't suppose for a moment that his brother would care a jot if any member of the family disapproved of his choice. No, he reiterated silently, what appeared to concern Benedict at the moment was that Sophia herself might not want him. Could there truly be any foundation for this fear?
He would have been the first to admit that, although he had been acquainted with the Earl's daughter for longer than his brother had, he didn't really know her that well. True, they had danced together on numerous occasions, and had occasionally exchanged views on the latest on dits, but not once, as far as he could recall, had they ever indulged in any meaningful discussions.
Beautiful simpletons, Nicholas reminded himself, had never been very much to Benedict's taste; but there again neither had bluestockings. So he could only assume that the lovely Sophia fell somewhere between the two.
Reaching for the pile of gilt-edged cards on the nearby table, he began to study with interest those invitations he had received for that very evening. Surely his future sister-in-law would be attending one of these very fashionable gatherings? Perhaps if he succeeded in running her to earth, he might be able to uncover just what it was about her that had succeeded in capturing totally the interests of a man of Benedict's wide experience. More importantly, he just might be able to discover if there truly was any reason to suppose that the Earl's daughter would turn down the opportunity of becoming the next Duchess of Sharnbrook. If there was, he doubted there was very much he could do to alter the situation. But one never knew.
There were perhaps no more than a hundred guests present in the handsomely decorated salon.
A very insignificant affair when compared to the several grand balls taking place that evening, Sophia reflected, as she moved about the room, automatically performing the steps of the dance.
Initially she had been delighted to discover that her mother had accepted this invitation to Lady Carlisle's small, informal party; happier still when she had been informed, just before setting out, that the Earl had decided to escort them. That, of course, she reminded herself, was before she had realised that her father's decision had stemmed not from a desire to begin socialising again, but merely from a stubborn determination to keep an eye on his daughter's activities.
Irritated though she was, she couldn't help smiling to herself. It had taken no time at all to see through her father's little stratagem, so she could only wonder at herself for failing completely to notice that she had become the butt of some malicious gossip in recent days. Part of the reason, of course, was simply that whenever she was in Ben's company she became far too engrossed in what he was saying to take very much notice of anything else. Unlike now, when she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her young partner's conversation, and was very well aware of what was taking place around her. Even the sudden appearance in the room of a late arrival did not escape her notice.
Now what in the world had prompted Lord Nicholas Risely, of all people, to attend such an insignificant gathering as this one? she wondered, happy to let her mind wander again. Although he was not considered one of the richest prizes on the Marriage Mart, he was nevertheless judged to be extremely eligible, and consequently was invited everywhere. He was always to be seen at the most lavish events, and there were plenty of those taking place this night, so why had he chosen to grace this rather mediocre affair?
Intrigued, and with precious little else to occupy her, Sophia found herself following his progress into the room. She saw him relieve one of the waiters of a glass of champagne, before looking about him, as though searching for someone in particular. Their eyes met, and he raised his glass in a silent toast, before moving on and stopping from time to time to exchange a few words with various other guests.
It might have been her imagination, but he appeared disinclined to remain with any particular acquaintance for very long, and seemed intent on reaching the corner of the room where her own mother stood amid an animated little group.
The instant the set came to an end, Sophia wasted no time in returning to her mother's side in time to hear the Countess politely enquire whether there was any likelihood of seeing the Duke of Sharnbrook in town that Season.
"Not if the man possesses a ha'p'orth of sense," Sophia could not resist saying, and found herself on the receiving end of an appreciative mascu
line stare.
"And why do you suppose my brother would be foolish to set foot in town?"
She suspected he knew the answer to that without being told, but had a mind to indulge him. "Because the poor man won't be given a moment's peace, that's why. He'll have every matchmaking mama for miles around descending on him, vying to bring her daughter to his notice."
The Countess's eyes gleamed every bit as brightly as her daughter's. "Not quite every mother."
"No, perhaps not every one," Sophia agreed, casting her own a look of approval. "But certainly most would be."
Nicholas's gaze, openly assessing, went from mother to daughter. "I assure you my brother is not faint-hearted. He's also quite accustomed to receiving a deal of attention, welcome or otherwise. I'm certain he'll show his face in town when he feels himself ready to do so."
It was Sophia and her mother who now exchanged glances before the Countess said, "Am I correct in assuming from what you have just said that the Duke has at last returned to our shores, and that you have had the felicity of seeing him again after your long separation?"
It was quite evident from his expression that Lord Nicholas was annoyed with himself for divulging as much as he had, but he did not foolishly attempt to deny the truth of what he had inadvertently disclosed. "Yes, ma'am, I have seen him," he admitted. "It just so happens that I received a visit from him this very day. However, he doesn't wish his return to this country to become common knowledge quite yet. He requires a little time to—er—accustom himself to his new role in life."
"Quite understandable," the Countess responded, before an acquaintance of long standing suddenly appeared at her side, demanding her attention, and it was left to Sophia to assure his lordship that neither she nor her mother was prone to gossiping, and that society would not hear of the Duke's return from either of them.
"That's a relief to know," he answered, and sounded totally sincere. "Benedict certainly needs some time to adjust." He took a moment to finish the contents of his glass. "He isn't the same person who went out to the West Indies five years ago."