by Lara Temple
‘Nonsense, Bry, you’re just jealous,’ Cranworth said in response to Bryanston’s condemnation of the married state, interrupting Max’s thoughts. ‘I wonder why Wivenhoe’s spreading that tale around if there’s nothing to it. I’m not fond of him myself, but I have to admit it’s not like him to go about gossiping. Unless it’s the girl that’s set the ball rolling. Trying to force your hand, maybe. It’s possible. Wouldn’t be the first time a girl got up to tricks angling to become your Duchess. Bad ton, though.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Max said impatiently. ‘This has nothing to do with Sophie. Wivenhoe is just being poisonous because she rebuffed him.’
The moment the words were out he knew he should have kept his peace and he certainly shouldn’t have slipped up and used her given name. There was a distinct shift of focus around the table. Bryanston was a rattle, but Cranworth and the others were no fools and they loved a good gamble, the longer the odds the better. Cranworth’s clear brown eyes settled on Max, widening slightly before looking away and Max barely held back a groan. It was clear new wagers would be made the moment his back was turned and any attempt on his part to prevent it would only make matters worse. He was letting this situation put him off his stride. With any luck a new scandal or piece of juicy gossip would catch the ton’s shifting fancy and this would be nothing more than a flash in the pan.
Chapter Nine
‘I don’t know why I bother going,’ Bryanston moaned as he followed Max and Cranworth down the front steps of Harcourt House the next day on their way towards Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon in Bond Street. ‘Jackson never lets me get one over his guard. I’ve been going for years now and I’ve nothing but memories of a black eye to show for it! I had to spend three weeks rusticating in the country until I was presentable again. Can’t we go to Tattersall’s or something? I haven’t placed a bet in two whole days and I’m feeling lucky.’
‘You can. I’m going to Jackson’s,’ Max replied, pulling on his gloves. ‘Come. It will do you good.’
‘It probably won’t. I’m not sporting mad like you and Cranworth with your horses and fists. I will just be bored while Cranworth batters away with the single stick and you and Jackson spar away like two backstreet brawlers.’
‘You’ve no discrimination, Bryanston.’ Cranworth chuckled. ‘Jackson himself said Max might have made a living of it if he weren’t cursed with a duchy. Run along then if we bore you.’
‘It is very lucky he was, then. I can imagine nothing bleaker than having to make one’s fortune with one’s fists. Here, Max, isn’t that your delightful Miss Trevelyan in the gardens? What on earth is she holding? Is that a dog?’
Max turned toward the gardens involuntarily, in time to see Sophie enter with Marmaduke nestled cosily in her arms. He felt Bryanston’s and Cranworth’s curious eyes on him and was about to resolutely turn and continue when he saw another familiar figure.
‘I say, isn’t that...?’
Max didn’t stay to hear the rest of Bryanston’s question. He crossed the road rapidly, reaching Sophie at the same time as Wivenhoe. She had stopped when she noticed Wivenhoe’s approach and half-turned back, only to stop again as she saw Max. He could see the relief in her eyes and he held her gaze until he reached her.
‘Shall I see you back to your aunt’s, Miss Trevelyan?’ he asked, taking her arm. Wivenhoe’s mocking sneer didn’t mask the annoyance in his eyes or voice.
‘What, do you hover nearby, waiting to snatch the brand from the fire, Harcourt? I never pegged you in the role of nursemaid. Let the girl have some fun before she must go back to wilds of wherever. Hello, Cranworth, Bryanston. Whither are you all headed?’
‘Jackson’s,’ Cranworth replied, casting a curious glance at Sophie and the somnolent pug.
‘Alas.’ Bryanston sighed and directed an elegant bow towards Sophie. ‘A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Trevelyan. Allow me to introduce Lord Cranworth. Did you enjoy the Exhibition?’
‘Lord Cranworth.’ She nodded at Cranworth and acknowledged Bryanston’s bow with a smile. ‘Very much, Lord Bryanston. I might have spent a week in there and not tired of it.’
Max watched as her face relaxed and the light returned to her eyes, sparking a responsive smile on his friends’ faces. If he weren’t so much on edge about Wivenhoe he might have appreciated the facility with which she put these two jaded men at their ease with no more than a frank and friendly smile.
‘Good gracious!’ Bryanston laughed. ‘A week! It just goes to show that one man’s, or woman’s, heaven is another man’s hell.’
‘Language, Bry,’ Cranworth said lazily and Sophie laughed.
‘I don’t think “hell” qualifies as a curse, Lord Cranworth. If it does, my father the vicar is guilty of extreme impropriety. It is one of his favourites.’
Cranworth’s eyes widened.
‘Your father is a vicar!’
‘They do have children, you know,’ she replied innocently and Max smiled despite the tension that held him as Wivenhoe remained standing there, the mocking smile on his face and something else in his eyes as they moved over Sophie. The image of a much younger Wivenhoe standing by Serena’s portrait with a similar gleam in his eyes came back to him, bridging all the years that had passed.
‘In quite the usual way, too, shocking though it might seem,’ Wivenhoe interjected provocatively.
‘Is that thing alive?’ Bryanston asked, smoothing over the uncomfortable silence which followed Wivenhoe’s comment, and Sophie laughed, lowering Marmaduke to the ground. Marmaduke opened his eyes, shook himself, sauntered over towards Max’s boots and sat down beside them, panting gently.
‘It likes you, Max,’ Cranworth said maliciously.
‘Animals always like Max,’ Bryanston said. ‘Remember that stray pup you tried to hide from the headmaster our first year up at Eton?’
Max was not in the mood for Bryanston’s reminiscences. He just wanted to get Sophie away from Wivenhoe and back to her aunt’s house.
‘You are a master of inconsequentiality, Bry. Come, Miss Trevelyan, we will see you home.’
‘Stray pups, Harcourt? Is that it?’ Wivenhoe said softly. ‘But there really is no need. I promise to behave. You fellows be on your way to Jackson’s and I shall see Miss Trevelyan safely home. I’ll even walk the dreaded pug. Here, my dear, give me the leash...’
He reached for the leash Sophie held, but she pulled back her hand abruptly and Marmaduke, with unusual perspicacity, stood up and gave an ominous growl. After a moment’s surprise Cranworth and Bryanston burst out laughing.
‘So you have two snarling guardians now, my dear,’ Wivenhoe said lightly, but his pale cheeks were flushed. ‘Your talents clearly extend beyond your sketch pad. And all with that light, innocent touch. Most impressive.’
Max’s hold tightened on Sophie’s arm and she glanced up at him, her eyes no longer smiling. Cranworth and Bryanston had also stopped laughing, clearly aware of the poisonous atmosphere. Sophie glanced down at Marmaduke.
‘Come, Marmaduke. It is time to go home now,’ she said calmly but Marmaduke remained sitting, his round eyes fixed balefully on Wivenhoe, not even getting up when his leash was fully extended and Sophie gave it a slight tug to no avail. Wivenhoe laughed.
‘What a stubborn little duke you are,’ he mocked and extended his cane, giving Marmaduke a nudge. Marmaduke, unaccustomed to such rough usage, fell back with a yelp and Sophie scooped him up with a frown.
‘It is a very bad habit to vent ill temper on creatures weaker than you, Lord Wivenhoe!’ she scolded and Wivenhoe’s expression shifted, his lips pulling back in a strange mirror of Marmaduke’s snarl, his hand holding the cane stretched out towards Sophie, and without even thinking Max found himself between them again, his hand hard around Wivenhoe’s raised wrist and he squeezed until the cane dropped from Wi
venhoe’s grasp and clattered to the path.
‘My hand!’ Wivenhoe panted, his face livid. ‘You’re breaking it.’
‘Stay away from her, Wivenhoe, unless you want to try painting with your left hand,’ Max bit out, tightening his hold mercilessly before releasing it.
‘She’s not your property either, Harcourt!’ Wivenhoe spat at him like a curse, cradling his bruised hand.
‘No, but she is my betrothed and if I see you near her again or hear that you even mentioned her name I will break your hand. With pleasure.’
He turned and took Sophie’s arm and guided her firmly out of the gardens, ignoring the interested looks of several onlookers who had stopped to watch the altercation. Cranworth and Bryanston followed in silence and as they reached Huntley House Max realised with a sudden wash of clarity that penetrated his anger precisely what he had just said, and in the presence of Bryanston, one of the ton’s most incurable gossips, as well as several residents of the square.
‘You two go ahead,’ he said, taking Sophie’s arm and leading her up the steps. ‘I will join you later.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Bryanston said hurriedly. ‘Don’t give it a thought. No hurry at all. Miss Trevelyan, your most obedient servant.’
Cranworth took Bryanston by the arm.
‘Off we go, Bry. Miss Trevelyan, I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. My warmest congratulations on your betrothal.’
Max didn’t wait for her to respond, but opened the door and guided her inside and led her directly into the green parlour, closing the door behind them and pulling off his gloves. Sophie moved into the middle of the room, looking down at the outrageous claw-footed green-and-gold divan as if she was seeing it for the first time.
‘You can put Marmaduke down now,’ he said as the silence stretched out and she started and placed the pug on the floor. Once again Marmaduke ambled over towards Max and sat down by his boots and she gave a little gasp of embarrassed laughter and then raised her hands to her cheeks.
‘I’m so sorry!’
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said stiffly.
‘It is such bad luck that he was there just as I came out. And that you came across us.’
‘It wasn’t luck. He didn’t chance to come across you, he was waiting for you.’
‘But that’s...what on earth is wrong with him? It makes no sense. He must be mad.’
‘That is one explanation. But that’s hardly the relevant point at the moment.’
‘No, of course not. Thank you for coming to my aid. It was kind of you, to try and scare him off like that, but it really wasn’t very prudent. How will you explain it to your friends?’
‘Explain what?’
‘What you said about being—’ She broke off, flushing and spreading her hands out helplessly.
‘There is nothing to explain. They are both reasonably intelligent men, they understood me quite clearly.’
‘Oh, then they know you were just saying it to warn him off? I was worried they might take you seriously. I don’t think Wivenhoe will mention it.’
Max breathed in slowly. This was harder than he would have thought. Could she really be so naïve?
‘Sit down, Sophie.’
With a hesitant look she sat down on the divan and he pulled up a chair opposite her.
‘You do realise I have just announced that we are engaged in a very public location in front of several members of the ton? Of the lot of them you are quite right that Wivenhoe is the least likely to mention it, but Bryanston is probably happily communicating that choice piece of gossip to all and sundry as we speak, while my other friend, Lord Cranworth, is probably on his way to Brooks’s to collect on his wager to that effect. And I can only conjecture what the passers-by who were enjoying the spectacle are going to do with their version of that scene. So the only explaining that needs to be done is apparently to you.’
He stopped before the bitterness seeping into his voice became too obvious. It wasn’t her fault and the churning frustration wasn’t even directed at her. He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The whole point of his careful search for a perfect bride had been to avoid being driven by impulse into choosing someone unsuitable and he couldn’t find a better description of what had just happened. He had no idea what rankled more—making a fool of himself in public, finding himself tricked by his own temper and the insistent pull she operated on him into announcing a betrothal he had not even considered two seconds previously, or the fact that she was so obviously blind to the implications of what had just happened.
‘But, that’s ridiculous. One can’t just... I mean, no one would expect you to...’ She trailed off again and then continued resolutely. ‘I mean, you are hardly to blame for what happened. You merely came to my defence.’
‘It’s my fault you met Wivenhoe in the first place—’
‘Nonsense,’ she interrupted. ‘You aren’t responsible for me. And no great harm has been done after all. Soon I will return home and everything will return to the way it was.’
‘Is that what you want?’ he asked and her eyes rose to his, a deep insistent blue that struck heat through his body, making it clear that part of him at least was very willing to proceed down this path. He continued before she could speak. ‘It doesn’t matter if it is. Once word of our betrothal spreads, if either of us repudiates it, the damage to your reputation may be much more substantial than you realise. Wivenhoe was already brewing a nice scandal at your expense even before this afternoon and this announcement is falling on fertile ground. But once we formally announce the engagement no one will dare say a word against you. Not even Wivenhoe.’
She considered this.
‘So announcing an engagement will be enough? We won’t actually have to go through with it?’
‘What...? Of course we will have to go through with it! You can’t just announce an engagement and do nothing about it!’
‘I suppose you couldn’t jilt me, but after a while I could jilt you, couldn’t I? And then you could...’
‘Sophie. Listen to me and listen well. We are trying to prevent damage to your reputation. And mine. If you are bird-witted enough to believe you can do this by getting publicly engaged and then jilting me, let me tell you—’
‘Oh, fine,’ she interrupted. ‘It was just an idea.’
‘A hare-brained one.’
Her mouth tightened and once again he saw the bedrock of stubborn temper that underlay her warmth and humour.
‘First I was bird-witted and now hare-brained. Are you certain you want to contemplate marriage to a menagerie?’
‘Sophie...’
‘Miss Trevelyan, please. I don’t remember giving you leave to call me by my given name.’
‘Miss Trevelyan, then. I want you to listen to me with all the sense I know you possess. Whether you like it or not, your name has been linked to mine ever since I was foolish enough to accompany you to the Exhibition. On top of that every servant in this house probably knows what happened yesterday with Wivenhoe and there is no way they won’t be sharing that choice piece of gossip which will tie in nicely to the malicious interest in why Wivenhoe is spreading poison about you. So at the moment speculation is rife about who Miss Sophie Trevelyan is and the odds that I will offer for you or for Lady Melissa. And now all those elements collided in that ridiculous scene which was witnessed not just by us, but by everyone else who happened to be passing by at the moment. Do you really think that you would be immune to this gossip merely by going back home? From what I know of small-town gossip you would likely find yourself in the middle of a much worse scandal than the one that is brewing around us. As a vicar’s daughter you should know full well the damage such a blot on your name could have not just for you, but for all of your family. Do you really want to put them through that? The only way
I can see to protect both of us from all that is to cut through this Gordian knot. Am I being clear enough?’
He didn’t like being so brutal, but she had to understand how serious the situation was. It might be unfair that she had to pay for his mistakes, but right now he couldn’t afford to consider that. All that mattered was that she realise there was no choice. He moved to sit by her on the chaise longue and clasped her shoulders gently, trying to atone for his severity, and her muscles flinched under his touch, but she didn’t move away.
‘Perfectly clear,’ she replied, her face pale. Clearly the mention of the impact on her family was more convincing than the possible damage to her own reputation.
‘Well?’ He moved his hands down over the muslin sleeves to her arms. A tremor shook through her and it spread to him, and he had to hold himself hard against the need to do more.
‘Very well.’ Her voice was low and husky and for a moment he was not certain what question she was responding to.
‘Very well what?’ he asked carefully.
‘Very well, I will marry you.’ Her voice had dropped even lower, as if afraid someone outside might overhear.