The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (7 page)

Keene paused, caught between moving forward or retreating. He feared in backing away he would alert the Farthings to his presence in the shadow of the open doorway.

Keene strained to hear Jane's soft reply. "He is to be her husband. I cannot think it should be so very terrible if we gave them a little time together."

"I cannot allow it. If he learns what he is getting into, he might cry off."

"I know you don't approve of his lifestyle, but he is a gentleman. He will honor his commitment."

"Not if he learns Sophie is not as seemly as she should be, he won't."

"You are too harsh on her. She is just high-spirited."

"The consequences of her
high spirits
make me shudder, madam."

What consequences?

Jane's voice was very low. "Which is why you should permit more interaction between the pair. Keene is a smart boy, he will . . . Is someone there?"

Keene cursed his hesitation. He walked forward confidently as if he hadn't hidden in the shadows indulging in an unmannerly exhibition of eavesdropping. "Good evening, Cousin Jane, Farthing."

Jane's posture was overly stiff, and Farthing's face looked as inviting as a mud puddle. Keene did his best to be oblivious to the obvious signs of discord. "Is Sophie down yet?"

"Not yet. I shall see what is keeping her." Jane ducked out of the room in a flurry of swishing skirts.

Was Farthing worried that Keene would find out how unrestrained Sophie's behavior could be? Or was there a deeper concern? Some other problem Farthing wanted to conceal? Keene couldn't ask without admitting he'd been listening at the door. Nor could he reassure Farthing that he had a pretty good idea of Sophie's faults. He couldn't share details of the event he'd witnessed on his arrival or her late-night visit without getting her into trouble.

In three weeks, Sophie's behavior would no longer be Farthing's problem.

No, it would be Keene's. That thought was enough to give the hardiest of souls pause.

Keene dropped down in a chair, thinking how very ostracized Sophie would be if her antics were publicized to the wrong people. How would his hopes for a future political career fare with a wife whose behavior could prove a huge embarrassment? Not that his behavior was above reproach, but society allowed a man much more license.

"I trust you had a pleasant day," said Farthing.

"Well enough. The weather was very fine, much milder than this time last year." Keene rolled his eyes. He had digressed to having so little to say to his future father-in-law that he had begun to speak of the weather, much like his relationship with his own father. Only Lord Whitley, would have found some fault with Keene's description of the conditions.

Keene rubbed his temples.

"My solicitor shall attend us tomorrow, so we might conclude the marriage settlement."

Keene nodded. Did Farthing know that Sophie was heir to the bulk of his father's property? If that information became common knowledge, she would be considered quite a catch. She might garner even more offers than his, the squire's and the gentleman from Cornwall. Was it fair to withhold that detail?

Sophie and her mother entered the salon. He rose to his feet. Sophie's gaze assessed him with a grave inquiry out of place in her normally blithe attack on life.

What now?

She moved to the far side of the room and sat.

Jane inquired after his day while Sophie stared at him without a smile. How long would she be able to sit still?

Not long. She popped up and moved to a window where she pulled back the edge of a curtain. She didn't participate in the desultory conversation.

Keene assessed her form under the yards of peach material. The dress was hopelessly outdated, although he could see some effort to modernize the capped sleeves. He supposed Farthing objected to the latest fashions as frivolous and too revealing. Sophie wore her dress with a careless disregard. Her shawl was draped negligently over her arms in what she probably didn't know was a most fashionable display.

Finally, dinner was announced and Keene offered her his arm. She tucked a bare hand into the crook of his elbow. Had she forgotten her gloves?

He lagged behind, glancing around to see if she had laid them down in the sitting room.

"What are you doing, Keene? My parents are already ahead."

"Where are your gloves?"

"I didn't wear any." She tugged on his arm as if to pull him forward.

He stopped completely. "What's wrong, Sophie?"

"Mama and I had a long conversation this morning. It has been on my mind since."

"What was the talk about?"

Sophie tilted her head. "Marriage." Her blue eyes narrowed and then dropped away. A hint of color appeared on her cheeks.

What had Jane told her? Keene stared at the backs of Sophie's parents and wondered if with their prudishness, the Farthing's had conveyed to Sophie that the intimacies of marriage were a repulsive business. In this instance he should prefer his bride be totally innocent rather than have misconceptions tainting her spirit.

What exactly did Sophie know of relationships between men and women? For that matter, what of her parents' marriage? There had been no more children. He couldn't recall ever witnessing Farthing touch Jane other than when formalities required it. Even now as they walked down the hallway, Jane's hand on Farthing's arm, a considerable distance gaped between her skirts and Farthing's legs. "I daresay our marriage should be quite different than your parents'."

"Yes, Mama said it would be."

Keene pulled his arm close to his body and smoothed his hand over Sophie's. He didn't want her fretting over
her duties
or however Jane had explained the intimacies of marriage to her.

She tugged at him.

Yesterday she had exhibited no desire at all to pull away from him. "Did this talk of your mother's frighten you?"

She stopped tugging and lifted her face to stare him directly in the face. "I daresay it did."

Until this visit he hadn't thought she could be frightened. Even now she met his gaze squarely. He moved his hand to her face. "I promise you, I shall see to your pleasure. There is no need to be afraid of my touch."

"Your touch?" She blinked.

"Of making love." He should have said the hell with proprieties and promises and pulled her into his bed last night. "That is what your mother spoke to you about, isn't it?"

"No, not exactly. I'm not afraid of the intimacies of marriage, per se," she said with exasperation. Color flooded her cheeks. "Is that what you think we are speaking about?"

Keene felt a twinge of uncertainty. "What are you afraid of?"

She looked away. "Well not of
that
precisely. Come along, Papa shall be furious if we are too far behind."

Not being allowed to talk to his bride was annoying. Not having a clue what she was talking about was worse. And her claim of not being afraid didn't match with the trembling she'd done last night in his arms.

But then, he knew from his occasional rescues over the years, Sophie did not admit fear when she had to be in the throes of terror. Instead, she'd always spit fire. She'd reminded him of a dunked cat the time he'd pulled her out of the river, all fury and raised wet fur. She'd screamed at him for removing his shoes before going in after her.

He'd yelled back at her for being so damn foolish as to nearly drown herself. She'd turned and stomped away. He'd stalked after her, both of them slopping water across the lawn as he told her how foolhardy she'd been. She finally picked up her sodden skirts, the weight of which had nearly drowned her, and ran to the house.

Later, Richard had told him she'd had tears on her face. Could it be that her fury was a cover for fear?

She tugged on his arm, and he reluctantly started forward. The workings of her mind were a mystery.

Any mistake he made now could haunt him for the rest of his life. Even his attempt at reassurance had fallen off the mark. And tomorrow, after the marriage settlement was concluded, he would be leaving. With the marriage to take place in less than a month he had business of his own to attend. He hadn't expected everything to happen so fast.

In the natural course of events, the engagement would be settled and her parents would bring her to London for the season where he would court her, and the marriage would follow next summer. Instead, everyone seemed in a rush, even him. Of course,
his
rush was more about wanting the rights of the marriage bed, before he remembered how very off-putting her behavior could be.

Something had happened when he watched her climb out the window and seen parts of her anatomy he shouldn't have.

Actually, something had happened years earlier when he pulled her from the river, and her wet bodice had plastered against her barely formed breasts. At the time, he'd had no business thinking that way of his cousin. She was far too young for the lascivious thoughts of a twenty-year-old. He'd stayed away after that. Now, with her window escapade, it didn't appear her behavior had changed in the intervening years.

Out here in the country who was to know how badly she behaved? He didn't have to face his friends and explain that she wasn't aware of the impropriety of displaying her drawers to the masses. Not that there had been any masses, but in London, even in his quiet square, if she backed out of a window in the middle of the day, more than blades of grass would witness her antics.

He looked down on Sophie's blonde head. Her hair was neatly pulled up and twisted into a complicated arrangement. He knew by the end of the evening, little strands would escape from their confinement as if her hair mirrored her personality, unable to remain restrained and dignified for long.

What was going on in that head of hers? What did she think of this rush to wed? Of his not-so-subtle reminders that she would be his to bed soon?

Surely she deserved a chance to be wooed. What woman wanted a hurry-scurry to the altar—well, other than a woman in trouble? A woman like George's wife, who had not hurried fast enough to cover the problem and delivered a baby girl weighing five pounds six months after her marriage. Of course, a compromised woman's best-laid plans could be thwarted by a child who refused to look like his mother's husband. Keene pressed his hand to his temple.

"Are you feeling well?"

He glanced down. Sophie looked up at him, her blue eyes searching his face.

"I'm fine." It was just that his life had decided to hurtle like a fallen log down a steep hill. A year ago everything had been normal, if a little boring. Now, his brother was dead. Keene was on the verge of marriage to a woman he could only imagine being tied to in his nightmares. He'd nearly killed a man who had been his friend since childhood, and his best friend George might off himself at any moment.

With Sophie in the mix it was bound to boil over.

"If your head aches, you could have a dinner tray sent to your room."

"I'm fine."

She eyed him skeptically. "I've made you upset." Her voice was the epitome of quiet acceptance of her negative effect on people. "I give my papa many headaches."

It wasn't her at all. Or only a part. "It is not my head that hurts."

She flushed and looked away.

He smiled. Perhaps she was not as naive as he feared.

She turned back to him, her gaze boldly on his face. "We shouldn't have you in pain. What would ease your discomfort?"

He let his eyes drop to her lips, pink as rose petals.

"A hot compress? Have you perhaps strained yourself following Mr. Ponsby? He is quite vigorous in his activities although you should not know it to look at him."

Oh, well, maybe she was innocent. "I assure you I met with no injury in Ponsby's company."

"Are you very sure you do not have a headache? You were rubbing your temples when Mama and I came in earlier."

Was her solemn look concern? For him? He gave one of his more engaging smiles. "Do not give it a thought. I assure you I am in excellent health."

"Good, then." She tugged on his arm and half-pulled him down the hallway.

"Sophie,
I
am to lead
you
."

"Well, all that is well and good, but I should not like to have bread and water for supper. I like to eat." She continued forward half ahead of him instead of by his side.

Farthing returned to the dining room doorway and watched them with a scowl on his face.

Why he thought anything untoward could happen between the sitting room and dining room, Keene didn't know. And why would Sophie be the one sent to bed without supper? Not that Farthing had much ability to punish him.

Keene allowed her to tow him into the room. He would definitely have to curtail that behavior. Not that he would withhold meals from his wife.

A cold sweat broke out over his body. Damn. How would he curb her waywardness when her father's repeated attempts to temper her conduct met with no success?