“What the deuce has Kennington to do with this state of affairs?” asked the duke, thoroughly confused. Then raising his hand, “No, don’t tell me now. I will furnish you with a change of clothes and, when you return, you can tell me. Must admit though, my boy, I’m deuced glad you were here before us, it would not do that Sophie should have contracted such an unsuitable match. Not at all the thing, and I see now that we would not have arrived in time to prevent it. You did well.” Tasting the wine he exclaimed, “Damned good claret this, you must try it.”
*****
When Vale returned to the parlor a short while later, the duke poured him out a glass of the claret and waited for his opinion. Sophie and the duchess remained in the apartment above.
“Though why they should find it necessary to take so long about their dressing I know not,” complained the duke. “Now, Dominic, tell me, what do you think of the wine? Is it to your taste?”
“Undoubtedly, very pleasing,” replied Vale, coming to sit with his father on the settle by the hearth, feeling a cordiality in his company that had been absent for some while.
Savoring the wine, the duke eased back in his seat, stretching his elegantly booted legs before him and negligently crossing them at the ankle. “Perhaps now you will enlighten me about Kennington? Undoubtedly you have a perfectly sound reason for your journey, but you must realize that your sudden disappearance lead to some concern.”
Mirroring his father’s actions, Vale too took his ease. “A whim, sir, a mere whim. I heard tell of a mill between Toby and Jim Tabbs and thought it too good a match to miss.”
“And the outcome?”
“A victory for Tabbs, though I must say that the result was far from certain. They were quite evenly matched.”
“Knocked his man out, did he?”
“Devil a bit. A clean hook to the jaw!”
A brief silence reigned until, laying aside his glass, the duke turned fully to face his son and in a tone that indicated he would brook no defiance said, “Now the niceties are over, I will come straight to the point. You must marry Sophie. The child will be ruined and I cannot allow it. She deserves better than that. Indeed, from what your mother tells me, it is you she wants not Wroxham. Though why she found it so necessary to elope with him I know not. I will never understand the chit’s reasoning. It is quite beyond me.”
“But not beyond me, sir,” admitted Vale quietly. “I understand the motive behind her actions only too well and the fault is entirely mine I assure you. As to marrying her—it is my very intention. Indeed, it is what we both desire.”
“Excellent,” replied the duke, rising to refill their glasses. “Arrangements will be made immediately on our return to London. We can allay the tittle-tattles and all will appear as it should be.” He was taken aback by the alacrity with which his son had agreed to his ordering. He had expected a repeat of his interview at Stovely and had been prepared for a battle of wills.
*****
Sophie explained all to the duchess with the exception of the Bird of Paradise, thinking it prudent to omit this from her dialogue.
The duchess being delighted at the news that they were to marry embraced her warmly. “My dear, nothing could please us more,” she said, finding it necessary to wipe a tear from her eye. “You will be the making of him. Indeed, your influence is in evidence already. Forswear I have never seen him so amenable when presented with his father’s censure.”
*****
There was a great air of cordiality when they all sat in the parlor a short while later. “I have known all along how it would be,” proclaimed the duchess, smiling brightly at her son and patting his hand as she sat beside him on the settle. “It was just a matter of time. I know you better than you know yourself, and see more than you would credit. Am I not your mother and as such understand far more than you would allow?”
Smiling warmly, the earl carried his mother’s finger to his lips. “There is no doubt you understand me better than I understand myself, my dear,” he said. “I had not envisaged such a happy outcome when I took a pupil.”
“It will be a magnificent wedding,” enthused the duchess. “Everything as it should be. Who would have thought that you would be married before Regina? It will probably put her nose out of joint, but that we must bear.” Then turning to Sophie, “You shall have the most splendid wedding gown and bride’s clothes, my love. We will have such a time choosing your trousseau. Now you truly will be our daughter.”
The evening continued in much the same vein, all appearing extremely well pleased with the outcome of the day until, as the time to retire neared, his lordship noticed that his betrothed’s mood sobered somewhat and a slight frown clouded her brow. When the duke and duchess decided to retire, he held Sophie back so that he may enquire of the source of her concern.
“Sit with me a while, my love,” he said drawing her to sit beside him, “and tell me what it is that troubles you. There is no need to look so anxiously at me, I can read your countenance and I know all is not well. Tell me!”
“I cannot,” she said, attempting to pull away, but he held her fast to his side.
“Then there is something amiss,” he stated. “Do you not desire to go through with the marriage? Has something occurred to change your mind?”
“I cannot say, Dominic, it would seem so ungrateful,” she replied, tears starting in her eyes.
“What is it?” he demanded, holding her away from him the better to examine her features.
“Of course I wish to marry you, it is the one thing I desire above all else but...”
“What is this but,” he asked curtly, attempting to make her look at him as she dropped her head. “There is definitely something not sitting right with you.”
“I am terrified of the wedding.”
“Of me?” he asked incredulously, mistaking her meaning, “For I can assure you...”
“No,” she chuckled through her tears. “Certainly not you,” and she caressed his cheek with her hand. “It is the wedding itself and the magnificence the affair will be accorded. Although I have been introduced into society, I am still not comfortable when in their midst. I am not used to so much notice and I quail at the thought. Now if I could go as Jack...”
“You could go as anyone you like, rogue,” he said, smiling with relief and quickly catching her to him. “I care not who you find it necessary to be, but marry me you will, be it as Sophie or Jack.” And he found it necessary, so very necessary, to once more assure her of his devotion lest she should be in any doubt of it.
*****
Early the next morning, before the duke and duchess had descended for breakfast, Vale stood outside Sophie’s door and knocked quietly. Upon the door being opened he whispered, “Come with me, my love.”
Closing the door silently behind her, Sophie placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her along the corridor and down the stairs before eventually asking, “Where are we going, Dominic, and at this hour?”
“Have patience, my love,” he grinned. “Trust me and all will be well.”
*****
Arriving in the still empty parlor a short while later, the duke and duchess ordered their breakfast, the duke showing no small amount of irritation at his son’s tardiness.
“If we are to start our return journey this morning, he could have at least made some effort to remove himself from his bed at a reasonable hour,” he complained to his wife. “Should you not see if all is well with Sophie? She too needs to prepare for the journey. I will not have our start delayed because they sleep too long.”
The duchess repaired to Sophie’s room immediately but on finding it empty returned to the parlor. “She is not there, Marcel,” she informed her husband. “Her bag has been packed but there is no sign of her.”
“Don’t tell me the chit has found it necessary to run away again,” groaned the duke, putting his hand to his head.
“There is nothing to suggest she has run away, my dear, merely that she is n
ot in her room. Perhaps she has taken it upon herself to take some air, to go for a walk.”
“Did you try the boy?”
“There was no reply from his room either.”
“What the deuce are they up to now?” expostulated the duke. “Surely it is not too much to ask of them that they should be prepared to leave at a reasonable hour. I will not allow this need they must have to be always involved in some scape.”
“They will return soon,” soothed the duchess, pouring her husband’s coffee.
“The question is, when?” replied the duke, attacking his sirloin.
*****
The morning passed, the duke becoming increasingly incensed at his son’s continued absence. “I have checked the stables and his cattle are still there,” he informed his wife. “Wherever they have found it necessary to go cannot be too far. I’m out of all patience with them.”
“Be still, my love,” cajoled the duchess, patting the settle invitingly at her side. “Nothing will be gained by allowing yourself to become so agitated. They will return when they see fit.”
No sooner had the duke taken the seat beside his wife than the parlor door was unceremoniously flung open to reveal Sophie and the earl standing hand in hand.
“Where the devil have you been?” demanded the duke, starting up from his seat and coming forward.
His lordship came into the room and raised his hand to forestall his father’s actions, and with a faint unfathomable smile on his countenance, he held his hand out to Sophie and drew her forward. “Mother, Father,” he announced with great pride, “I have the pleasure of introducing to you the Countess of Vale, my wife!”
For the briefest moment there was complete silence in the room before the duchess rose hastily from the settle and rushed forward to embrace them both, the duke following close behind to grasp his son’s hand.
“When we embarked on this journey I never dreamed we would be returning with a daughter,” smiled the duchess, taking Sophie’s hand and drawing her apart. “We could not have wished for better. Indeed, I am prodigiously pleased to welcome you into the family.”
“What of your London wedding?” asked the duke. “Will you not regret its loss?”
“Not in the least sir,” said Vale, grinning. “Sophie had no desire for ceremony and neither had I. Besides, why else come to Gretna if not for a marriage?”
“Exactly,” agreed the duke. “By Gad, what an outcome. Who would have believed it?”
The End
About the Author
Hazel Statham began writing at the age of fifteen, finally committing to paper the stories she spun as a child. Writing has been her passion ever since, although marriage, motherhood, and career left time for little else. Once she retired, however, she was able to devote herself to writing full-time, publishing her first novel in 2007. A longtime student of history, she writes mainly in the Regency and Georgian eras, though she has been known to dabble in the medieval as well. She lives in Staffordshire, England, with her husband, Terry, and their beloved yellow Labrador, Mollie.
Website: www.hazel-statham.co.uk
Blog: http://hazel-statham.blogspot.co.uk/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/hazel.statham.1
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