‘We must all,’ continued Lady Sarah, oblivious to the fact she’d just disqualified herself on several counts, ‘do our part, you know.’
‘Indeed,’ he said again, placing his hand over hers, so that he could urge her into motion. ‘Allow me to return you to your seat, so that you may listen to Lady Margaret perform her next item, in comfort.’
Having got rid of her, he took up a station by the fireplace. Which was as far from her sofa as he could justifiably go during the time it took Lady Margaret to rearrange the music upon the stand.
The second ballad Lady Margaret inflicted upon his guests was just as dismal as the first and infinitely more irritating. The way she was attempting to pluck at everyone’s heartstrings convinced him he’d made the right choice in discounting her. For not only would she find him a deuced uncomfortable husband, he really didn’t think he could stomach having to admit, in public, that she was the woman he’d chosen to marry.
Which left him a choice of three. Upon whom he could concentrate his attention over the rest of the week.
‘Lady Elizabeth,’ he said, once the polite applause for Lady Margaret’s efforts had dribbled to a halt. ‘Would you care to play for us this evening?’
‘With pleasure, Your Grace,’ she said, eyes flashing with some emotion he could not identify—though it became clear when she stalked to the piano in the manner of a tiger lashing its tail. And then proceeded to give a rollicking and rather risqué performance of a song about Irishmen, which was on the verge of being unfit for polite society.
It certainly cut through the rather maudlin atmosphere that Lady Margaret had left hanging over the room. Like mustard, she brought some tartness to a bland event.
Most of his male guests certainly found it highly amusing, though her mother looked about ready to sink through the floor. Lady Elizabeth was clearly a bit of a handful. She certainly had a temper but he could hardly blame her for reacting to the way Lady Sarah had been attempting to dominate the evening, given that she was equally well born though not, nowadays, as wealthy. Besides, it was the spirited way she’d weathered the scandal surrounding her father’s death that had made him consider her. She was strong enough to hold her head high in public no matter what gossips said of her, or her family. She wouldn’t care what anyone said about him insisting that she raise his illegitimate daughter as her own. She would defy them all...providing, of course, that she believed she was doing the right thing. That was what he needed to learn about her this week. Would she be willing to support him in the somewhat unusual stand he was taking over his daughter?
As he was mulling over Lady Elizabeth’s potential, a pale-faced Lady Beatrice took a seat on the piano stool. Miss Underwood went to stand at her shoulder.
Lady Beatrice flexed her fingers and looked at the music as though it was a dose of bitter medicine.
Miss Underwood glanced at Lady Beatrice’s hands, which appeared to be shaking, and then turned to the audience, with a rueful smile.
‘We have only one piece for you tonight,’ she said, brightly. ‘Since neither of us can hope to match the lovely playing you have already heard, we beg your clemency for our joint, humble contribution to this evening’s programme.’
Lady Beatrice took a deep breath, then attacked the piano with far more determination than skill. She picked her way slowly through the more complicated sections of the introduction, then sped up again when she’d got through them. How on earth was Miss Underwood going to be able to sing alongside that?
From the look on her face, she was thinking exactly the same thing. The lyrics did come out rather haltingly at first, as she attempted to keep to the same pace as Lady Beatrice was setting. But after a truly agonising arpeggio she began to relax into the performance. In fact, she looked as though she was enjoying herself. As though...yes, by heaven, the minx was trying not to burst out laughing. And actually, the next time they reached the arpeggio, she did make it sound just like musical laughter.
When they’d finished, while the audience was applauding in a way which implied relief that the assault upon their ears had finished, she bent down and whispered something into her accompanist’s ear that removed the anguished expression from the poor girl’s face.
He had no idea what she could have said to bring such instant comfort to a girl who’d just been humiliated through the medium of music, but whatever it was, it had been kind. Genuinely kind, restoring the poor, gauche girl’s confidence. And kindness was a rare quality to find in a woman. Most girls, put in a similar position, would have been furious, might even have lashed out at the way Lady Beatrice’s inept playing had made her look slightly ridiculous.
Miss Underwood was a gem.
He wanted to take her pretty face between his hands and kiss her. In front of everyone. So much that he made himself turn away and stalk instead to the sofa upon which Lady Beatrice had just collapsed in an untidy heap.
‘Lady Beatrice,’ he said. ‘I believe you have brought your favourite mount with you, with a view to exploring my estates, while you are here.’
‘Oh—ah, yes, Your Grace, I have...’ she said, straightening up guiltily.
‘Then tomorrow morning, I would count it an honour if you would permit me to accompany you on your ride.’ Away from a drawing room, she would feel more relaxed and he’d be able to see her as she could be, to find out whether he might be able to grow used to her ways. ‘I believe you are in the habit of going out early?’
‘Well, yes, I am, but...’ Her mother, Lady Comerford, dug her elbow into her ribs.
‘What she means, Your Grace, is that she would be delighted to have your company.’
‘And that of Captain Beamish, of course,’ he put in smoothly, lest her mother suspect he was going to do something as foolish as take the girl out of sight of the Court unchaperoned.
‘And her groom,’ said Lady Comerford tartly, informing him that she was not the kind of woman who was so ambitious to see her daughter married to a duke that she’d sink to those kinds of depths.
‘Good,’ he said, with genuine approval. And felt that this was a mother-in-law with whom he might be able to get along as well, if he actually did offer for her daughter’s hand. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
Lady Beatrice flushed with pleasure, as though he’d just paid her an extravagant compliment.
And Miss Underwood, he noticed with surprise, was smiling at him as though he’d just done something of which she heartily approved.
Which ought not to matter.
Only somehow, it did.
Chapter Fourteen
Well, they’d muddled through fairly well, all things considered, Sofia decided. Lady Beatrice had played almost all the right notes, if not at a steady tempo. And she’d managed to weave the words into more or less the correct bits of tune. It was only during the arpeggio sections that they’d parted company altogether, which had given her an almost irresistible urge to giggle.
It had been the set of Lady Beatrice’s shoulders that had stopped her. The poor girl was clearly mortified, or bracing herself for some sort of rebuke. So that by the time they reached the end, which they somehow did at virtually the same time, all Sofia could think of was consoling her poor pianist.
‘I am sorry that I didn’t keep time very well,’ she said. ‘I am not used to performing in public, let alone with so many exalted people watching me, most of whom would love to see me trip up.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s perfectly frightful, isn’t it? Performing in public when you have so little skill. I mean,’ she added hastily, ‘me, not you. You have a lovely voice. I’m,’ she said, looking down at her hands, which she snatched back from the piano, ‘all thumbs.’
‘Well, at least after this they will think twice before asking either of us to perform again. We can rest easy.’
‘Yes, there is that,’ said Lady Beatrice thoughtfully. ‘Or we can say t
hat we wish to leave the ones who shine in this sort of setting to dazzle him... I mean...er...everyone.’
‘Yes, and we can shine in our own sphere.’
Lady Beatrice brightened considerably. She brightened even further when the Duke asked her, in front of everyone, to go riding with him the next morning.
And Sofia was pleased for her. She really was.
But that was the last bright spot in the evening. So she was really, really glad when the arrival of the tea tray meant she could legitimately ask Aunt Agnes if she might retire for the night.
‘Of course,’ said Aunt Agnes. ‘You aren’t used to sitting up playing cards until all hours, are you? Not in your state of health.’
She’d then startled Sofia by patting her cheek, before trotting over to the card tables where Uncle Ned was loudly proclaiming he didn’t want anyone but his wife to partner him at whist.
* * *
It didn’t take Sofia long to undress and get into bed. Getting to sleep was another matter. For one thing, she missed Snowball, who usually slept across the foot of her bed. For another, she’d had such an eventful day that she could not still her mind. Her thoughts kept dashing hither and thither. From the ridiculous amount of times she’d had to change her clothes, to the appallingly sly behaviour of the ladies which reminded her so much of Jack’s sisters; which led her naturally enough to Jack himself, or rather, what she was going to do with her life now she wasn’t going to become his wife.
She’d finally started to drift off when she heard her aunt and uncle return to their rooms. At least, she could hear Aunt Agnes giggling, all the way along the corridor. Even after they shut their bedroom doors, she could still hear her positively shrieking with laughter at something Uncle Ned was saying...if it was what he was saying that was making her laugh so.
She had to turn over and put her head under the pillow and, after that, it took her ages to settle again. And then she jerked awake to the sound of somebody pacing back and forth, right above her head. She could only assume one of the servants had the toothache or something. And though she was very sorry for whoever it was, pacing back and forth in the dead of night, she also heartily wished she had a broom handy so she could bang it on the ceiling.
* * *
By the time it began to grow light, Sofia felt as if she hadn’t slept a wink all night. Still, as she threw off her bedclothes, she reminded herself that not long after she’d gone to live at Nettleton Manor she’d found that early morning was the best time to get outside for a walk. If she ever felt like crying, first thing in the morning was the one time she could do it without anyone seeing her and thinking she was ungrateful even though they’d given her a roof over her head. Also, once she was outside she could claim—since she didn’t have a watch—that she’d lost track of time, thereby managing to stay away from her aunt and uncle and, most importantly, all her sleek, complacent cousins, for most of the day if the weather was clement.
And today, she decided after taking a look out of her bedroom window, was going to be perfectly glorious. She could only see a few tiny clouds of the purest white drifting lazily across the sky.
She washed and dressed swiftly, in her most comfortable, and therefore in her aunt’s eyes, most disreputable, walking dress—although she did not really think her aunt would be out of bed early enough to come in and try to prevent her going down to the kennels and collecting Snowball. Not after the amount of wine it sounded as though she’d consumed the night before, from all that giggling. But Sofia wasn’t taking any chances. Pausing only to snatch up a chip straw bonnet, which was perfectly serviceable when walking a dog, she slipped out of her room.
She wasn’t entirely sure she could remember the exact way down to the door by which she’d come in from the kennels, but she could certainly keep heading in that general direction by going down every staircase she encountered and stopping every so often to peer out of one of the windows to make sure she hadn’t accidentally turned around.
Eventually, she reached corridors which were flagged with stone, rather than being carpeted and heard the sound of pots and pans clattering up ahead.
She paused at a gallery of windows on one side of the narrow corridor which looked not to the outside, but into the busy kitchens, wondering if she dared nip in and snatch up a heel of a loaf to take out with her. That would mean she need not come back in for some time.
But then, if she didn’t put in an appearance at breakfast, and decently attired to boot, Aunt Agnes might start keeping such a close eye on her she’d never have the chance to nip out like this again. It was better, she decided, to snatch an hour or two of freedom, then behave for the rest of the day with perfect propriety. It was, after all, the tactic she’d adopted soon after going to live with her aunt and uncle, so that they’d come to believe she was meek and biddable.
Dull.
She trudged across the courtyard, head down, hating the need to behave in a way that was foreign to her nature. She’d only started doing so because Aunt Agnes had kept on telling her she was in England now and had to behave accordingly, had to put the past—which she’d often said with a shudder—behind her. Then, when her cousins had begun teasing and mocking her, she’d become convinced she wasn’t good enough just as she was.
She yanked open the door to the walled kitchen garden. She hadn’t been good enough for Jack even though she had worked so hard to prove she was naturally meek and biddable.
Oh, if only she was old enough to come into her own money, so she could live exactly as she pleased!
Until then...
A frenzied yapping broke into her train of thought. Snowball had obviously caught wind of her. She hastened her steps, crossing the kitchen garden in no time at all and emerging into the area that led to the kennels.
By this time, all the other hounds had started baying as well so that, as she reached Snowball’s enclosure, the din was deafening.
She dropped to her knees, relishing the way Snowball smothered her face with doggy kisses.
‘Come on, Snowball,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Time to take our walk.’
Snowball understood her perfectly to judge from the way she spun round and round, her whole body wagging along with her tail.
Sofia had not really formed any idea of which direction she wanted to walk, but fortunately Snowball knew exactly where she wanted to go. Nose down, she headed straight for a stand of trees that stood at the crest of a nearby rise. She’d probably been snuffing up scents coming from that direction all night.
How simple life was for a dog. Smell something interesting and run off in pursuit of it.
She shook her head, smiling ruefully at herself. Fancy being envious of a dog!
She could perhaps learn something from Snowball’s attitude. She could stop wishing things were different and start enjoying what she had: the stillness of the early morning; the freedom of being outside without anyone to make her do anything she didn’t want; breathing the dew-scented grass and the more vigorous scent of the trees when she drew closer; listening to the sound of birdsong; Snowball yapping furiously as though she’d run some hapless creature to ground. And...a child’s laughter?
Surely not. It was far too early for children to be out here, so far from any houses.
She hurried deeper into the woods, following the sound of Snowball’s barking, and found her bouncing on the spot at the foot of a very gnarled old oak tree. She was trying and repeatedly failing to reach a pair of legs which were dangling from one of the lower branches. The sight of her dog twisting and turning when she jumped up and down like that had always made Sofia want to laugh and was clearly amusing the child who had climbed the oak tree, too.
‘Good morning,’ said Sofia, drawing near. ‘I hope my dog didn’t scare you up that tree?’ It wasn’t likely, since she’d heard the child laughing, but it was as well to make sure. ‘She just wants to play, you
know. It is perfectly safe for you to come down. She won’t bite.’ And then, to show the child how well trained Snowball was, she said in a firm voice, ‘Down, Snowball’, making the appropriate hand signal at the same time.
Snowball dropped to the ground, her front paws stretched out ahead, though she never took her eyes from the child’s legs. A little girl’s legs, Sofia now noted, from the froth of skirts about the knees.
‘I ain’t afraid of no dog,’ said a scornful voice.
‘Oh, you were already up the tree, were you?’
There was a pause. ‘No...’ said the girl, as though reluctant to tell an untruth.
‘Then there is no reason not to come down, if you’d like to play with my dog. I’m sure she’d love to play with you.’
There was another pause. ‘I’d better not. I’m not supposed to bother fine ladies like you.’
Sofia supposed this must be the daughter of one of the estate workers, then, given the run of the grounds on the condition that she kept out of the way of any of the Duke’s titled guests.
‘I’m no fine lady,’ said Sofia, suddenly glad of her black eye. ‘Do fine ladies go outside with bruising like this on their faces? And you certainly wouldn’t be bothering me if you came down from your tree. After all, I invited you to come and play with my dog, didn’t I?’
‘That won’t make no odds,’ said the resentful little voice. ‘She’d still say as if it was my fault, if she catches me.’
‘Who would?’
‘Mrs Starchypants. My governess.’
‘You have a governess?’ Then she couldn’t be the daughter of a servant. ‘My, then you must be a fine young lady yourself.’
‘Well, I ain’t! I’m the Duke’s Disgrace, that’s what I am,’ said the little girl, finally leaning down to glare at Sofia from the screen of leaves behind which she’d been concealing the upper half of her body.
A Duke in Need of a Wife Page 12