Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 (18 page)

“As if that matters,” Sophie said. “You have done quite enough for me, Daniel.” She took Braithwaite’s hand and gazed into his eyes.

“I believe you’ll appreciate a quick wedding, Braithwaite,” Daniel said with a grin. “You won’t find peace until you’re married.”

Braithwaite raised an amused eyebrow. “Peace? I believe you jest, Your Grace.”

He liked the man’s calm grey eyes. “Daniel, please.”

“Horace,” Braithwaite said, offering his hand.

You could tell a lot by a man’s handshake. Braithwaite’s was firm and decisive. “Now will you join me for dinner?” Daniel beckoned to the servant. “Unless I’ve missed my guess, I can smell the rich aroma of roast beef wafting from the kitchen.”

After a hearty repast, Daniel sat down in his chamber and penned a letter to Hope. He briefly described the situation to alleviate her fears. He wanted to say so much more, but it would have to wait until he saw her.

Heavy hearted, he put down the quill and rose to go to the fireplace, where sweet apple wood burned. Gazing into the flames, he admitted he would miss Sophie in spite of all the headaches she gave him.

Two days later, Sophie walked down the aisle of the small London church on Daniel’s arm. Dressed in a simple yellow gown and brown straw bonnet adorned with daisies, she looked radiant. Waiting for her, Horace Braithwaite looked like a man who’d died and found he’d gone to heaven.

The matter of her dowry was settled, which Braithwaite insisted was to be invested in her name.

After the simple ceremony, they went to a hotel to celebrate with champagne. “I hope you know that, should you need me, you have only to contact me,” Daniel said when Horace had left them alone.

Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so grateful to you, Daniel. I don’t know where I’d be but for you. You’ve given me everything.”

“That’s not true, my
dear, but thank you.”

“But it is. The past is no longer a heavy weight on my heart. You made me believe in the goodness of men again. And I was able to appreciate those qualities in Horace.”

He smiled. “You’ve given me something very precious too, Sophie.”

“Surely not. I had nothing to give.”

“You opened my eyes to what I’d been denying myself. That I wanted a wife and family again.”

Her eyes widened. “I did that?”

“You did.” He kissed her cheek.

Sophie clutched his sleeve. “Go back to Hope, Daniel. Don’t delay. Go now.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Stop meddling.”

“Make sure you tell Hope, that I’m sorry I caused her so much worry.”

“Please avail yourself of my Mayfair house, or indeed my house in Ham, for your honeymoon,” Daniel said when Horace returned. “I shall not be there.”

“Where will you be Daniel?” Sophie asked him with an innocent expression.

“Never you mind, Mrs. Braithwaite.”

“That’s good of you,” Horace said. “But I have booked into a hotel. My wife and I”—he paused to bestow a loving smile on Sophie—“shall leave for Cairo at the end of next week.”

****

When the post brought two letters, Hope took the one addressed to her and hurried to where Charity sat in the morning room on the cerise-striped chintz sofa beside the canary in its cage.

Daniel’s note had been sent from a coaching inn. He wrote that all was well with Sophie. “Only fancy,” Hope said, admiring Daniel’s elegant cursive, “Sophie is to marry the man she ran away with. But Daniel seems quite at peace with it, for Braithwaite turns out to be an archeologist and a man of means.”

“I’m pleased for her,” Charity said. “Sophie would never have fitted into London society.”

“I believe you’re right.” Hope re-read the letter for something she might have missed. Some sign from Daniel that he wanted her, but she could find nothing. She dropped the letter onto the table. “He says nothing about returning.”

“He can hardly put everything in a letter,” Charity said in a consoling tone.

“I suppose not.” Hope rose and went to the birdcage where the canary hopped about and chirped. “Although some hint would have been appreciated.”

“I doubt he would do that. If he wants to marry you, he will come and speak to Father and ask you properly.”

“What makes you think he wants to marry me?”

“It’s obvious in the way he looks at you. We artists are observant,” Charity said. She raised her brows. “I can also tell that you want him.”

“I’ve tried not to care about him,” Hope admitted. “This is all such a horrid mess that I can’t see it happening. With Winslow about to propose, if Daniel came today on bended knee, Father would send him packing.” She sighed. “And then there’s the matter of leaving you all to live in France.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible.”

“Don’t give up just yet.” Charity chose an apple from the bowl on the table and, with a paring knife, sliced off a piece. When she thrust the fruit through the bars of the cage, the canary hopped down to peck at it.

Mama came into the room. “Here you are. We’ve received an invitation from the Duke of Winslow. He has brought his house party forward to this coming Saturday. Something has arisen with the king apparently. It’s for the best, I daresay. We need to have this matter settled with the birth of Honor’s baby almost upon us. Come to your bedroom, Hope. We must prepare your wardrobe. You will need to look your best. And don’t look at me like that, my dear. We shall see how you feel when, and if, a proposal should come about.”

Hope sucked in a breath and cast an anguished glance at Charity. “Mama expects me to be so overwhelmed by the duke’s estate I’ll say yes,” she whispered.

“Most ladies would be,” Charity said. “But you don’t need to.”

Hope hurried after her mother, whose voice could be heard from the stairs. She relayed her news about Sophie’s elopement.

Her mother’s eyes widened. “First Faith’s friend Rosalind running off to marry a doctor, and now this. Has the world gone mad?”

If Daniel should ask her, Hope was sure she would do the same.

Chapter Eighteen

A letter arrived from de Villèle, advising Daniel that the men who’d plotted to stop him now languished in a French prison. The discontented Spaniards desperately wanted France’s help in their desire for Spanish influence in the New World. He offered his assurance that Daniel was in no further danger.

As he prepared to leave for Tunbridge Wells, a letter arrived from Hope
. Your Grace, I wish to thank you for kindly putting my mind at rest. I am greatly relieved to learn Sophie is safe. If you’ll permit me to express my opinion on the matter, I consider it perfectly sensible for your half-sister to marry a man not of the beau monde, but rather an academic. I did sense a reluctance in Sophie to embrace society. The demands on her, should she have married a member of the ton, could have proved quite stultifying for a woman as adventurous as she.
Daniel paused. He respected Hope’s opinion, and she’d seen a side of Sophie that had been kept from him.

He returned to the page.
Please excuse this rushed missive.
We are about to leave for Winslow Hall in Dorset
.
The
Duke of Winslow’s house party has been brought forward. It is to be held this Saturday.

Very truly yours,

Hope Baxendale

He thumped his fist on the desk. “Dammit!” He’d been too slow wakening from his self-imposed exile. He put the letter down and walked the length of his library, which seemed too quiet and empty since Sophie had gone. He confessed to sorely missing his half-sister, and their lively evening discussions. Her warm, familial presence had enriched his life. He should have listened to her advice. For now, Hope, the one person he wanted, who could fill his life with love and joy, was lost to him.

****

The Winslow estate was every bit as grand as Hope expected. She gazed out of the window as their carriage passed through formal gardens on its approach to the Elizabethan house, of mammoth proportions.

After a liveried footman opened the door. A dark-suited butler led them into the Great Hall, where the duke greeted them. He looked relaxed and self-possessed, amidst huge portraits of his ancestors on the walls gazing down in stern repose. As more guests arrived, a footman escorted them up to the floors above and their allotted bedrooms. Along the corridors, there seemed to be footmen wherever she looked.

Hope entered the bedroom, the grey carpet soft underfoot. An ornately carved four-poster bed was hung in gold damask. She would take up only a very small corner of it, which would be lonely because she was used to sharing with Charity. A boudoir led off the bedroom, with a chaise longue in gold satin, the walls hung with mirrors. Her trunk already stood beside a handsome armoire. Hope caught sight of her pale face in a mirror when she turned her head. She’d been unaware that she had caught her lower lip between her teeth.

A maid knocked at the bedroom door, entered and curtseyed. “I’m your maid, Jenkins, my lady. Would you care for some tea before your bath?”

Hope nodded. “Thank you, Jenkins.” Anxiety made her throat horribly dry.

The maid helped Hope change from her carriage gown into a negligee. A servant carried in a tray loaded with tea things, a cup and saucer with the Winslow crest in gold and a plate of tiny sandwiches and cakes. Jenkins disappeared into the other room to unpack Hope’s trunk as Hope sat before the small fire burning in the fireplace. A fire seemed hardly necessary, for the weather wasn’t cold, in fact, it was warmer than at home but she supposed these old houses needed constant heating. The tea was hot and strong. When Hope had finished her delicious refreshments, Jenkins pulled the bell rope. Moments later, two maids entered the boudoir carrying buckets of water, soap and towels, followed by two footmen with a hipbath.

Hope luxuriated in the lavender scented water while Jenkins washed her back. When she stood, the maid enveloped her in a soft, fluffy towel. Wearing a silk negligee over her chemise, she sat before the dressing table mirror while her hair was dressed in the latest style and brilliants tucked into the creation with Jenkin’s quick, expert hands.

Soon after, Hope left the room wearing the white, embroidered and spangled evening gown her mother had chosen. Her heart still heavy despite her luxurious surroundings, she knocked on her parents’ adjacent bedroom.

“Sit before the mirror, Hope. What do you think of Winslow Hall?” Her mother gazed at her shrewdly in the mirror as she fastened the clasp of the silver chain around Hope’s neck.

Hope added dainty rose-cut diamond earrings to her lobes. “It is very grand. Where’s Father?”

“He’s gone to examine the duke’s library before dinner. Winslow has a wonderful collection of books on naval battles.”

“Really, must Father be so annoying?” Hope pressed her lips together to prevent a moan of despair.

“It holds a certain fascination for him dear. Hard for a woman to understand I grant you. Now stand up and let me look at you.” Wearing her oak leaf emerald and diamond tiara and a green silk gown, her mother tilted her head to study Hope. She smiled. “Perfect. Shall we go down and find your father?”

At dinner, Hope was placed to the duke’s right, with Lady Bevan staring haughtily at her from his left. “Young women’s faces lack expression; do you not agree, Winslow? They have yet to develop character, to become interesting,” Lady Bevan said. He shushed her, but several times during the long, arduous affair, her veiled criticisms were aimed at Hope, her voice loaded with spite. If embarrassment and discomfort hadn’t made Hope’s stomach churn, the forty-odd dishes served certainly would have.

Hope turned to the gentleman on her left and conversed with him, while continuing to ignore Lady Bevan who spoke alluringly to Winslow about the trips they had taken when the duchess was alive, and their sojourns aboard the king’s yacht,
The Royal George
. Winslow merely grunted in response.

Growing ever more uneasy by the strained atmosphere, Hope longed for the dinner to end.

At last, the ladies left the gentleman to their port. In the drawing room, Lady Bevan took control of the conversation while pointedly ignoring Hope. When they entered the ballroom sometime later, Hope spotted Amy Tyndale amongst the guests. Relieved to find a friendly face, Hope took the opportunity for a quiet word with her while the musicians tuned their instruments.

Amy held a white-gloved hand against her mouth with a sigh. “Doesn’t the duke look splendid?”

Hope glanced at Winslow, where he held court with all the confidence his place in the world afforded him. She had to agree that, despite his short stature, he did look every inch a duke tonight.

When the musicians struck up for a minuet, it was Hope that Winslow led out onto the floor. During the evening, he danced with her again. Hope’s heart sank to her satin slippers; his actions surely heralded a proposal of marriage.

Her parents obviously agreed with her. Mama tucked a displaced wisp of Hope’s hair behind her ear. The last dance was called, the Sir Roger de Coverly. “If the duke invites you to dance the country dance, we are assured of a proposal.”

Hope felt as if her heart had stopped. She couldn’t catch her breath as Winslow made his way toward her. “Please consider all that he offers, my dear,” her mother whispered.