The Duke's Unexpected Bride. Lara Temple
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the private rooms where she proceeded to make mincemeat of Wivenhoe. Besides, this whole thing is your fault!’
‘Mine?’
‘Yes, you were the one who said she must be bored on her own in the mausoleum. I felt sorry for her. That’s why I offered to see her there safely. My mistake, but acquit me of either taking advantage of her or exposing her to someone like Wivenhoe!’
Hetty sighed.
‘No, I know you wouldn’t. But really, Max, it wasn’t very wise to take her there at all. Naturally people are curious when you are seen squiring an unchaperoned, unknown and personable young woman.’
‘I would think my credit is sufficient to make clear I have never shown an interest in toying with virtuous young women,’ he bit out.
‘Well, precisely, it is out of character, which is why it drew so much attention. Now that it is clear to everyone that you finally intend to marry you know the gossips are having a fine time speculating who will be the next Duchess of Harcourt. I can hardly step outside the house without someone coyly asking me who you are favouring. Fine, I won’t say another word. Just do be careful.’
‘That was four more words. And don’t worry; I’ve satisfied my chivalrous instinct for the next decade. I will stay well away from that troublesome pixie.’ He picked up the newspaper again, as much to block out his sister’s anxious frown as to prevent himself from venting his resentment on her. It was just typical that the moment he did anything that was one step out of character everyone was up in arms. All his life he had walk a fine line between his independence and his parents’ confining criticism, couched always in unarguable terms of duty, but to have to put up with it from Hetty as well when all he had done was take pity on that aggravatingly buoyant girl was putting a serious strain on his civility. Suddenly he wished Hetty and everyone at the devil.
‘Lady Henrietta Swinburne, Miss Trevelyan.’
Lambeth’s voice was a blend of surprise, approval and curiosity. Lady Henrietta entered the parlour as he stood aside, approaching Sophie with a smile, her hand extended.
‘I do hope you don’t mind my showing up like this, Miss Trevelyan, but I had to come and thank you for that lovely sketch.’
Sophie stood up, still holding her paintbrush, and extended her hand automatically. Then they both glanced at her paint-covered fingers and to Sophie’s relief Lady Henrietta burst out laughing.
‘Never mind. May I stay for a moment? This is all very unusual; we haven’t even been introduced properly. I am Lady Henrietta Swinburne as your butler pointed out, but please call me Hetty,’ she announced, glancing around the room. ‘Goodness, I don’t think this place has been redecorated since Bonaparte was chased out of Egypt!’
Sophie relaxed at Hetty’s easy informality.
‘This is quite mild. There is a brocade sofa with gilded crocodile-claw legs in the Green Salon. Aunt Minnie never comes down here, but she insists that nothing is to be put under holland covers which means the colours have all sadly faded. Still, it is rather grand, isn’t it?’
‘Very grand. But then your aunt was very fashionable when we were children. What are you working on? May I see?’
Sophie turned with some embarrassment to the canvas she had been working on and nodded nervously as Hetty moved towards it.
‘Oh, he’s adorable!’ she exclaimed. ‘And you paint as well as you sketch!’
Watching the woman’s animated face, Sophie succumbed to impulse.
‘Do you know, Marmaduke’s portrait means I am fully equipped with artistic supplies and it would be a pity to waste all of this on a mere pug. Would you mind if I tried to paint you?’
‘Mind? I would be delighted! But I really don’t want to impose...’
‘Oh, I promise you it would be my pleasure. With all due respect to Marmaduke, he isn’t the most inspiring model. Please say yes. I really don’t have much else to do while I am here...’ She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to sound self-pitying. I really would like to paint you, if you don’t mind.’
‘I would love it. When?’
‘The light is perfect right now, if you sit in that seat by the window...’
Hetty smiled and moved toward the window.
‘So be it. On condition you tell me how you like being in town.’
Sophie hurriedly picked up her sketch pad, wondering what on earth she could say. She could hardly reveal that her most memorable experience in London involved this woman’s brother. Not that her fascination with him was surprising. He was so very different from any of the men she knew back home. In fact, she rather thought he was unlike most men in London, too. She would hardly be the first or the last to be so drawn to him. His virility and unconscious air of command were bad enough, but much worse was the guarded humour in his dark grey eyes, and the fact that unlike so many people he actually appeared to sometimes find her peculiarities vaguely interesting rather than merely regrettable. That was perhaps the greatest danger of all.
Somehow, no matter how stony the façade he presented, he radiated an underlying curiosity that she felt was an unconscious invitation to be herself, an invitation she so rarely encountered it was bound to be intoxicating. It was probably completely fictitious, but it was so tempting to believe in it. She looked down at the blank paper in her hands and resolutely began sketching.
‘There’s not much to tell. I haven’t seen much, aside from gardens outside and the exhibition yesterday. Still, I am revelling in being on my own. There are nine of us at home and very little privacy and quite a lot of...meddling, you see. So, forced solitude has its advantages. Could you please raise your chin a little?’
Hetty complied.
‘Nine! I can see why this might be considered a holiday. Still, it is a pity your aunt hasn’t provided you with any entertainment at all.’
‘Aunt Minnie is convinced there isn’t any to be had any more. From her tales, London society used to be exciting, scandalous, and very licentious when she was in her prime. But it has become sadly dull and she derives much more enjoyment from her books than from reality.’
‘That’s a bit unfair. Society can still be all that, though mostly behind closed doors today. There is an unspoken agreement that if one is suitably discreet and respects the rules of the game, they can do pretty much as they please. But the moment one steps outside the bounds of the game there is no more brutal jungle. What happened to Lord Byron is just one dramatic example of what happens even to society’s darlings if they transgress.’ She hesitated, tracing the elaborate brocade pattern of the sofa with one long, elegant finger. ‘My brother, Max, is probably a fine example of how to play the game to perfection. One of his friends once told me he had never seen anyone with quite that talent for driving their horses so well up to their bits so that it looks like they might be bolting, but they are never out of control. He is just the same in society—he makes his own way, but he never transcends the rules.’
Sophie paused, but did not look up. It was clear Lady Hetty’s comment was anything but casual. Coming on the back of her own internal lectures Hetty’s words stung and she spoke before she could censure herself.
‘Are you by any chance warning me not to develop any expectations regarding your brother based on his charitable impulse yesterday? I assure you I am not so naïve.’
‘No, it’s not that!’ Hetty flushed. ‘You seem a very...sensible young woman. Surprisingly so, since you don’t know London and just how it works. It is just that...oh, dear, this is difficult...it is just that young women often...because of his looks, and his war exploits and all that...they tend to think him...heroic and develop quite the wrong ideas about him. It’s not that he encourages it. He