Bachelor Duke. Mary Nichols
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In the meadows cattle grazed and young lambs trotted behind their mothers, bleating for attention. This was the England she remembered, the England her mother had yearned for all the years of her exile. Was that why it felt so much like coming home?
London, when they reached it, was packed, just as Paris had been. Rich and poor jostled each other, carriages vied for space with carts, and the noise of it all assailed her ears: grinding wheels, ringing hooves, neighing horses and voices, some high-pitched, some raucous. When the crowd saw who sat in the grand carriages smiling and waving fat beringed hands at them, they were openly hostile. Sophie heard one wag shout, ‘Where’s your wife?’ And this was echoed by others until it became a chorus.
‘What do they mean?’ she asked Lord Myers.
‘Oh, they are referring to the Princess of Wales,’ he said. ‘She is far more popular than her husband, who tries very hard to pretend she does not exist. The people like to remind him of her now and again.’
Their ways diverged after they crossed the river and the Myers’s coach went on to Holles Street, where the servants had been expecting them hours before. It was extremely late, the dinner spoiled and they had to make do with a cold collation before tumbling into their beds.
And now it was morning, the first day of her new life and whatever was in store for her, she would have to make the best of it. Until she had made her call on the Duke, she could make no plans, and meeting the Duke was something that filled her with trepidation. She dressed hurriedly and went down to the breakfast parlour where she found Lady Myers immersed in the morning paper, which reported the arrival of the French King and a great deal of other news, some of it political, some of it mere gossip. She laid it aside on Sophie’s entrance. ‘How did you sleep, dear?’ she asked.
‘Like the dead,’ Sophie said. ‘I was worn out.’
‘That is hardly to be wondered at. Shall we stay at home and rest today? Tomorrow will be time enough for paying calls if you are too fatigued.’
Sophie was very tempted. It would be so easy to presume upon her ladyship’s generosity and do nothing, but her circumstances and sense of fair play would not allow it. ‘Unless you have other plans, I think I should make my call at Belfont House first,’ she said. ‘It has been playing on my mind. If the Duke is from home, I can ascertain if he is at Dersingham Park.’
‘Do you not think you should purchase a new gown before presenting yourself?’ her ladyship suggested.
Sophie looked down at the lilac muslin she had fetched out of her trunk. It was so simple as to be childlike, with its mauve ribbons under the bosom and round the puffed sleeves. Its only decoration was a little ruching round the hem, which had been mended more than once. ‘You think I should be in mourning?’
‘Do you?’ Lady Myers countered.
‘No. I mourned Mama and I mourned the man my father once was, but that was three years ago and, strangely enough, Papa’s last words to me were, “Do not mourn me, I am unworthy of it.”’
‘Then lilac is perfectly fitting, except that gown is very simple.’
‘Simple things do not become outdated so quickly and I cannot afford to buy something just because the fashion changes.’
‘Hmm, no doubt you are right,’ her ladyship said. It was sympathy and help the girl needed and strutting about in the height of fashion would not further that end, though she was wise enough not to utter her thoughts. ‘I will order the carriage for noon.’
Sophie was shaking with nerves by the time the barouche drew up outside the house in South Audley Street and only Lady Myers’s hand under her elbow prevented her from taking flight. She was being a ninny, she told herself sternly. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was her mother’s daughter and Mama had always told her to be proud, hold up her head and look the world in the eye, and that is what she would do. If the Duke of Belfont refused to recognise her, then so be it.
‘Lady Myers and Miss Sophia Langford,’ her ladyship said, handing the liveried footman her card. ‘We wish to speak to the Duke on a personal matter.’
‘I will ascertain if his Grace is receiving, my lady,’ he said pompously. ‘Please be seated.’ He waved them to a row of chairs ranged against the wall of the vestibule and disappeared down a marble tiled hall, his back stiff, his white-wigged head held high.
Lady Myers sat down, but Sophie could not sit still and began looking about her. There was an ornate cantilever staircase that set off at the centre of the hall and divided on a half-landing before climbing again to a gallery lined with pictures. On each side of the stairs the hall was lined with doors, all of which were closed. The footman had gone through one of them and shut it behind him.
‘Oh, I wish I had never come,’ Sophie whispered. The grandeur of the place was overwhelming.
‘Take heart, dear. I am right beside you and I will make the introductions.’
The footman returned, leaving the door ajar. ‘This way, ladies, if you please.’
They followed him and waited while he announced them. ‘Your Grace, Lady Myers and Miss Langford.’ Then he stood aside for them to enter the room.
A second later Sophie found her jaw dropping open because the man she faced was not the sixty-year-old duke she had expected, but the handsome equerry she had dubbed Lord Ubiquitous, elegant in dark green superfine coat and cream pantaloons, his fair curls brushed into attractive disorder. And he was looking just as astonished as she was.
‘Good God!’ he murmured loud enough for her to hear.
Before she could open her mouth to retort, Lady Myers spoke. ‘Your Grace?’ It was a question, not a greeting.
He recovered himself quickly and bowed. ‘At your service, my lady.’
Her ladyship curtsied. ‘Your Grace, may I present Miss Sophia Langford? You have been expecting her, I think.’ She gave Sophie a prod with her elbow because the girl seemed to have forgotten the basic courtesies.
Sophie, jolted from her contemplation of the man who had occupied so much of her thinking in the last twenty-four hours, dropped a curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’
James, who had expected a child, a schoolgirl at the most, found himself looking at a grown woman, a woman he had seen before, though for the life of him he could not remember where or when. It was hardly surprising; she was not particularly memorable. Her lilac dress was so plain, it could have been worn by one of his chambermaids and not been considered too grand. She had a hideous bonnet that hid most of her face and almost all her hair, but her figure was good. ‘I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage,’ he said.
‘How so?’ Sophie asked. ‘Did you not receive my letter?’ If he had not, then she would have to explain who she was and why she was standing in this magnificent drawing room and wishing herself anywhere but there. He was not welcoming and certainly not smiling.
‘I received a letter from Italy, yes, but I had not expected its writer to turn up on my doorstep the very next day.’
‘You may blame me for that, your Grace,’ Lady Myers said. ‘Lord Myers and I were returning to England; as poor Sophie had no one else to escort her, I undertook to bring her to you. I am afraid it was not possible to wait for your reply.’
That was where he had seen them, in Dover, trying to enter the hotel where the Regent and the King of France were taking refreshment and he had noticed them later, following the procession. Being anxious about security, he had been concerned they might be jeopardising that and had kept an eye on the carriage, until it had turned off north of the river. He had laughed at himself for his suspicions.
‘And now you are here,’ he said, wishing Harriet were on hand to relieve him, ‘what do you expect me to do?’
‘Nothing, your Grace,’ Sophie snapped. ‘I was mistaken in coming here…’
Again that defiance;