The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (19 page)

"That is not it."

"Yes, I quite realize." She should have put her petticoats back on, but she'd quite forgotten she'd removed them until he cast a frown in her direction. Well, it wasn't as if she had entered a London drawing room naked.

She sat in a chair across from Lord Whitley. "Keene is quite up on fashion, is he not? At first I thought he dressed rather plainly in sober colors, but on reflection, he is never flamboyant to the point of ridiculousness, is he?"

"If you came in here to talk of my son, please leave."

"Why?"

Lord Whitely's faded blue eyes opened wide as he raised his head to meet her gaze.

She guessed Lord Whitley was rather taken aback by her directness.

"I have work to be done."

"Oh, pish. I shall do it for you. Are you keeping the accounts? I have a very neat hand and a good head for figures." She stood and leaned across his desk.

Lord Whitley closed the ledger.

She sat back down. Had she had offended him? Keene had seemed interested in her ability to manage her father's accounts. "I often check over my father's figures. You could ask him, but only if you should wish assistance. For I confess it is not my favorite occupation."

"What is, miss?"

"Well, I do prefer pursuits which require exertion. I imagine I should greatly enjoy dancing. I like to ride, and of course go for long walks, but it is raining, which cancels the last two, and I cannot dance without a partner, let alone that Papa—my real papa, not you—did not see fit to allow me to learn. Although Mama says one must be able to dance in London. Do you think that is why Keene didn't take me with him?"

"You shall have to put your question to him."

"Should I? I mean I already did, and he said I was not ready for London. Mama gave me a bank draft to use to furnish my trousseau. We knew Papa would not allow me to purchase gowns in the latest fashion, and Mama says one must buy in London or be hopelessly provincial-looking."

Lord Whitley rubbed his forehead with his sausage-like fingers. Sophie couldn't help but compare his square hands to Keene's elegant long fingers that could touch so devastatingly and leave her aching.

"I mean, do you think that is what he meant? I am not dressed properly and cannot dance. Actually, I cannot play cards, either. I understand I should do that."

"Since he specifically requested permission to allow you to refurnish the nursery, I would presume he has plans to make me a grandfather."

Sophie blushed and looked down at the ring on her finger. In a hesitant voice she said, "Then I imagine I should be in London with him, rather than sitting here alone. I would wish your advice. He is your son, and I am afraid I displease him with my unfashionable appearance."

Lord Whitley leaned back in his chair. "I do not think your looks displease him, but your pert manner, miss."

Sophie pushed back the chair and headed for the door. She hadn't come into the room to be insulted.

"You say you are good with figures?"

She paused, her back to him. "Yes, sir."

"There is a deck of cards in the dining room sideboard. Fetch them and the housekeeper and come back here."

Sophie did as she was bade. The housekeeper stood in the doorway as Lord Whitley took the cards from Sophie's outstretched hand.

"Mrs. K., is there not a dancing master residing in the village?"

"Yes, sir. Him used to teach for that young ladies' academy up in Perth. He is old now and only takes occasional students."

"Send around an inquiry to see if he would consent to teach our Sophie here."

Sophie leaned forward and threw her arms around Lord Whitley's neck. "Oh, thank you, Papa."

Lord Whitley gave her an awkward pat on the back before clearing his throat, indicating that her exuberant hug had gone on long enough.

Sophie spent the next few days learning as much as she could. She pored over the copy of the
Times
that Lord Whitley received each day. She forced herself to wade through the political news, understanding little. Lord Whitley found her a quick study at cards, and her old dancing master, whose bones creaked with every knee bend, pronounced her a highly adequate student.

* * *

Keene paced through the house like a caged tiger. He couldn't tame his restlessness. Partly it was because the house was empty. Without Richard, silence hung like a pall over the rooms. Yet, it wasn't entirely Richard's absence that provoked his agitation. There had been plenty of times when Richard had not been in residence.

When he had combed through every room and found nothing to soothe his spirit, he called for his horse. What he wanted was to ride to his father's estate and see if Sophie was willing to talk to him yet. He had given her every opportunity, held out hope until the last minute before leaving that she would divulge her secret. He'd told her nothing in the past mattered. She'd dipped her head and stared at the floor, while he waited in vain.

Keene rubbed his face. It was not in the least like Sophie to act reticent. What reason would she suddenly start now? What reason other than her pregnancy?

He pulled on his gloves and walked down the front steps to his horse. It had only been a few weeks, not long enough, yet. He had only a few months to wait. Yet waiting drove him to distraction. He needed to be doing something, anything. He rode to George's house.

The butler stood implacably at the door and said the Keetings were not at home. Keene could hear the shouts that belied their servant's statement. George, at least, was home, and his tirade could only be directed at Amelia.

"Let me in, man, before he does something he should regret."

The servant's reserved exterior crumbled before Keene's eyes. "It's an awful row, it is."

The butler refused to announce him. Keene turned the door handle of the morning salon and stepped inside. Amelia sat on the edge of a sofa, her hands gripping the cushions at her side, her face white. George stopped mid shout, his face red.

"Are you all right, Amelia?" asked Keene.

She nodded. "I am fine."

"He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Amelia gave a fractional shake of her head. "He would raise nothing stronger than words against me."

Keene glanced at his friend. Did George realize how painful words could be?

"You interfere, sir."

"Your shouts can be heard in the street."

Silence greeted his quiet observation. Only the silence was incomplete. In the distance a small cry signaled a baby's distress.

"Oh, my." Amelia rose from the sofa. "I hadn't heard her."

"Take care of your brat," said George.

"I'll get her," offered Keene.

He paused outside the room, drawing a deep breath. Was this how his father had responded to him as an infant? His hands shook as he contemplated the anger he shared with George and the anger he felt toward George. He thought of Victor and the shoulder that was taking so long to heal. As he climbed the staircase his body felt heavy. He had shot the wrong man.

* * *

Victor pulled on his shirt and gingerly slid his right arm into the sleeve. Finally the wound was beginning to heal. His arm felt weak and useless, although for the most part he could control its movement. He lifted it to shoulder height, both fearing to use it and terrified that if he never used it, the limb would wither to nothing.

A knock on his door brought his man from the wardrobe, a cravat in hand. Victor moved to his bedroom door while his valet opened the door to his apartments.

"Sir, there is a young woman to see you."

Victor raised his eyebrows in a silent question,
who?

His man shook his head slightly, indicating he did not know.

Victor crossed to the door. "Sophie!"

"Oh, good, it is your place. I wasn't quite sure. I found this address among some of Keene correspondence. I didn't wish to read the letter to be sure it was current."

"What are you doing here?" Victor reached to pull her inside, thought better of it and stepped out onto the outside stair, then changed his mind again and pulled her inside. Standing outside was more likely to draw attention than pulling her inside. Just showing up at his door was bad enough.

His manservant discreetly disappeared into the back rooms. Keene would kill him if he knew his wife had called on him in his bachelor quarters. No decent woman was ever seen calling on a gentleman living alone.

"I came up to London to have some dresses made. I wish to appear more fashionable. I am sure I am quite dowdy. Papa—Keene's father—gave me his address, but I decided I should just stay in a hotel. I do not have any acquaintances here, and I hoped you could recommend a proper place to stay."

"Keene doesn't know you're in London?"

"No. He did wish for me to stay at his country home, and I do not wish to be disobedient—although it is ever my nature to be so—but I did wish to furnish my trousseau, and the draft that Mama gave me is to be deposited in an account,"—Sophie reached into her reticule and pulled out a folded paper—"at One Pall Mall East. I believe it would be wise to have a gentleman accompany me, and I hoped you would consider assisting me."

"You should apply to Keene."

"I suppose I might do it myself. I do understand how banking works. I have helped my father for some years, although all of it was done by the mail."

"Sophie, Mrs. Davies, it is terribly improper for you to be here." Not to mention that Keene might shoot him again.

"I did not come alone. My maid is outside in the hackney. I wished to bring her in with me, but I was afraid the driver would not wait. And it is not as if you do not know me. I thought you must be a good friend of my husband, since he brought you to the wedding. I was not sure I shouldn't apply to his other friend for assistance, but I did think he did not like me overmuch. Since you were so kind as to offer advice, I thought . . ."

Sophie raised her blue eyes to his, and Victor wondered how Keene could resist the appeal in them. "You are his friend, are you not?"

"Something like that."

She crinkled her pert nose and Victor thought how long it had been since he'd had a woman in his apartments, so very near his bed. But she was Keene's wife, and he didn't think she understood in the slightest that a woman calling on a man implied a great deal. Her excuse of coming up to London for clothes seemed flimsy in light of the fact that in a few months new clothes wouldn't fit.

On the other hand, she had made no overt moves to suggest she had come with the intention of seducing him. Her red cloak remained tied at her neck, the hood draped over her head. Victor floundered, confused.

Was it an excuse to come to his apartments? She seemed so very innocent and sincere. She was a pretty thing, perhaps not in his first taste of women, but not the sort he'd kick out of bed for lack of appeal. How could Keene stand the delay, knowing she was his for the taking? Victor reached out and touched her shoulder. "Sophie, you do understand what people would think if they knew you were here alone with me?"

She blinked rapidly several times. "What should they think besides I am calling on a friend of my husband's?" She paused as if waiting for him to explain further. Then, in a more hesitant voice, she asked, "If I am not safe with you, who should I be safe with?"

"It's just not done."

She stepped back and turned. "I did not realize. I should go, then."

Victor wanted to toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to Keene, except he feared his reception. "Yes, you should go."

"Very well. I guess I shall try staying at the Limmer Hotel. Is that a good place? Because I did find this letter from a friend of Keene's who had stayed there."

"No, you do not want to stay there." It was a good place for gentlemen to stay, especially those inclined to follow the fancy, but not for a single lady or a married lady on her own. What would everyone think if they caught whiff of her presence in a hotel, while Keene resided in his town house? "You should go straight to your husband's home."

"Please, I should not wish him to know I am here. I wish to surprise him, when I have improved my appearance."

She didn't need to improve her appearance, although now that Victor thought about it, her cape was rather outdated and very similar to one his grandmother wore.

"I mean, he did not expressly forbid my leaving the country, but he did not bring me with him, either." Her eyes glistened in a way that made all the rational thoughts in Victor's head melt into pools at his feet.

He knew she had been disappointed when Keene left her. Her bravado in coming to town on her own touched something in him. Why couldn't Keene have explained it to her? "He did not wish you here because of your condition."

She frowned. "My mother must have spoken with him."

"Yes, she did."

"I do seem to be getting better. I have had much less trouble of late."

It was Victor's turn to frown. In his opinion, pregnancies didn't get better, just bigger. Although he supposed she might be referring to her fainting on her wedding day. "Have you fainted again?"