Trapping a Duchess (8 page)

Chapter Five

Sophie awoke the next morning at seven, an unusual hour for her. On a normal day, she rolled out of bed around ten and flitted around the house until after noon. Last night, she had tossed and turned, echoes of her and Andrew’s conversation drifting in and out of her head like a dissonant song. It was after one o’clock when she dozed off, only to be awakened a mere two hours later by a vivid dream that left her body warm and aching with a need she had never before experienced. Sleep, after that, was impossible.

She spent the next three hours at her escritoire, wading through invitations and catching up on correspondence. Once the shadow of the curtains began to stretch across the floor, she donned a light green sprigged muslin, pulled her hair into a quick knot and headed downstairs to break her fast. The sideboard was loaded with all of her favorites—poached eggs, ham, crispy bacon, and wedges of cheese and apples. Plate full, she sat down at the table and signaled for a footman to pour her tea. Simon entered the room halfway through her meal.

“You look a fright,” she said without preamble as she popped a piece of scone into her mouth.

He gave her a jaunty grin. “Good morning to you, as well, little sister.”

“You weren't home when mama and I returned. Where did you go after the ball?”

“Out.”

“Searching for a wife?” she asked, mostly just to annoy him. The truce she reached with Andrew was not enough incentive to forgive Simon for his part. He shot her a warning glance as he took his seat, then reached for the paper that had been ironed and laid out for him. She stood and wandered to the sideboard for another dollop of jam.

“Did you enjoy yourself last evening?” he asked through a full mouth.

She stiffened, but kept her tone light. “I did,” she said, taking great pleasure in the clanging sound the serving spoon made against her plate.

“Excellent.”

“And have you anything to add to that?” she asked as she crossed behind him, taking the seat to his immediate right. “An apology perhaps?”

He set the paper down and glanced over. “I do not,” he said, aiming his loaded fork at her nose.

Sophie scowled. No matter how pompous or arrogant his behavior, he had never once apologized. Expecting him to do so this time was the equivalent of believing rain could fall from the ground up. “That was a nasty trick you pulled.”

Looking incredibly amused, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Sophie, you know as well as I that you would not have spoken with him otherwise.” The look on his face dared her to contradict him.

Her inability to refute did not stop her angry retort. “Since when is our reconciliation a concern of yours?”

“Since you will be marrying this season.”

“Which has nothing at all to do with the duke.”

“I disagree. Just as no man would risk the censure of courting a ruined woman, no man will wed you if he believes the cost is a peer’s favor. Like it or not, it is the way of our world,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“That is utter rubbish.”

“Is it? Would you want to marry a man your peers considered unworthy?”

“I don't want to marry at all, as you bloody well know!”

“Language, Sophie,” Louise scolded as she entered the room. “Heavens, you sound like a common fishwife.”

“Sorry, mama,” she said, tossing Simon an irritated look.

“The point is, your options will remain limited until society has proof he harbors you no ill will.”

“But they had their proof last night when the duke and I shared a waltz.”

“During which you appeared to be chewing rocks,” he said with a condescending chuckle.

“I've seen smiles less artificial between bitter enemies,” Louise added as she set her plate down on the table.

“His Grace is hardly my enemy, mama.”

“He will be, if you continue to behave impertinently.”

“Tolland is not a man prone to spite,” Simon said, “but if you push him, I can assure you he will react as such.”

Sophie's fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup. “I wasn't the one doing the pushing last night, Simon, as you well know.”

“All your brother is trying to say, darling,” Louise said in a serious voice, “is that you would do well to keep the duke on your good side.”

“And all I am saying is, I don't need help with the matter.” She glared at her brother. “Especially not from you.”

“After what happened in his study, you cannot fault me for wanting to smooth things over. I did what I thought was best. ”

Sophie blinked twice, averting her eyes as embarrassment stung her cheeks.

“What happened in his study?” Louise asked, blanching.

“It isn't important, Mother,” Simon said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “What's done is done. From this point on, Sophie, you are on your own. I will not be intervening.”

Her expression turned dubious.
Simon, not intervening
?
Ha
!

“I promise,” he said, placing his hand over his heart and patting, as if there were actually something there.

A tiny, shriveled thing, if he even owns that much
. Keeping the thought to herself, she rose. “I shall hold you to that, brother. If you will both excuse me, I have plans.” She pressed a dutiful kiss to her mother's cheek.

“Be back in plenty of time to dress for the evening.”

“I will.”

She entered the hall and pulled on her cream colored pelisse. The ride to Bond Street took nearly a half-hour, but she arrived to the shop in plenty of time. Alex was still in the middle of her fitting with her modiste. Sophie barely got in a greeting before Alex launched into a lengthy and irritated, albeit furiously whispered, litany on dealing with autocratic men.

“This is exactly the problem with men of their ilk,” she finished, stamping her foot to express her annoyance. “They think they know everything!”

“Miss, if you weel please hold steel,” Madame Dupont said in a thick French accent, wielding the pin in her hand as if it were a weapon designed to control unruly children.

“Apologies,” Alex muttered with an aggrieved sigh.

Sophie chuckled. Alex was never good at keeping her body still when her emotions were engaged. By the looks of it, engaged was an understatement.

“So, Simon gave no indication during your waltz that your brother planned to put in an appearance?” Sophie asked, pretending the magazine she was flipping through was more interesting than her question. When no response came, she looked up.

Alex shook her head, her brown eyes earnest. “He didn't mention Andrew at all, except to say he was glad of his return .”

Giving up all pretense of casualness, Sophie snapped the magazine shut and set it aside. “I just wish this would all blow over.”

“Me, too.” Alex sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I miss your carefree smile.”

“Posture,” Madame Dumont reminded with a huff. Alex immediately straightened, but not without first shooting Madame a look that implied exactly what she could do with her
posture
.

“Simon is behaving as if it is his own happiness hanging in the balance. And mama seems to think I should be licking your brother's boots.”

“I don't quite think that is necessary.”

“Tell them, not me. They were like rabid dogs at breakfast.”

Alexandra chuckled, then heaved a sigh. “I imagine my brother would say the same thing about me.”

“Why is that?” she asked, surprised. Alex and Andrew never argued.

“Because I spent my morning giving him an earful over his deceitful behavior. I do not appreciate him saying he had no plans to attend the ball when, in fact, he had very specific plans. I understand his need to be tight-lipped on occasion, but I will not tolerate out and out subterfuge.”

Sophie refrained from telling her that she would have disliked the deceit even more had she been informed of the carriage ride that followed. The conversation had gone better than she thought, however, apart from him revealing his intent to select a bride. Why the idea bothered her was not something she cared to examine in the light of day.

“
Fini
,” Madame Dumont said, setting her needle-weapon aside.

“What do you think, Sophie? Will it suit?”

“I think it's gorgeous.”

Madame gave them both a triumphant smile. “I weel have it ready by week's end.” At Alex’s nod, the woman left.

Sophie waited until Alex slipped behind the dressing screen to ask, “So, did your brother say anything about what happened?”

“Only that your conversation went better than he thought,” her disembodied voice answered. Sophie supposed she should be thankful he felt that way. Alex popped her head around the corner, curiosity writ on her face. “Why do you ask?”

Sophie shrugged. “No reason. I just wondered if he. . .” Her gaze dropped to the floor. The question made her feel like the child both Simon and Andrew had accused her of being.

“Wondered what Soph?” Alex asked, moving to her side.

“I was awful to him, Lex.” Her shoulders slumped.

“You mean last night?” She asked, turning around so Sophie could tie her laces. “I daresay he deserved it.”

Sophie set her fingers to work. “No, not last night. I mean I
was
awful to him last night. But I’m talking about all those years ago. It may sound silly, but I haven't thought about the actual wedding day in a long time. With him an ocean away, torturing myself seemed pointless. But seeing him again has brought it all back and I feel like a horrible person. What kind of coward leaves a man standing at the altar?”

Alex turned around, interrupting the movement of Sophie’s hands and causing the laces to loosen. She gripped Sophie’s arms and leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Her voice was firm. “You are not horrible, my dear. And you certainly aren't a coward. You were simply young and afraid and confused. I am sure Drew understands that as much as anyone else does. Honestly, I think he is just glad to have some closure. A burden has been lifted off his shoulders, and yours. Now that the gossips have been satisfied, you can begin your lives.”

Sophie gave her an appreciative squeeze before turning her back around to finish her laces. “Time will heal all,” Alex continued. “Perhaps one day you shall even be friends.” She turned and offered a brilliant smile. Her eyes twinkled hopefully.

Sophie tried to match Alexandra's enthusiasm. Even if she and Andrew never became friends again, they would still be friendly; that alone should make her happy. Why, then, did she not feel happy?

“You know what will ease your mind?” Alex asked as she pulled on her coat. “A shaved ice. Gunter's is just a few minutes walk. And the air might do you good.”

“Well, it certainly couldn't make me feel worse,” she said as she grabbed her reticule.

The line at the famous shaved ice shop was wrapped out the door and down the street. “I have never seen it like this,” Sophie said as they approached. “I wonder what has happened.”

“I have no idea,” Alex said, regarding the queue with a sigh.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said to a gentleman waiting at the end, “do you know why the line is so long?”

“Mr. Gunter is premiering a new flavor today,” the elderly man answered in an excited voice. “Mango.” His eyes widened as he said the word, as if that particular flavor of ice would be served in the Holy Grail itself.

Sophie choked back a laugh and offered a proper grin in its stead. “Mango? How interesting.”

Alex tapped her on the shoulder, pointing toward a group of people nearest to the doorway. “Look. Simon is there with Lord Courtland. Let’s join them,” she said, taking Sophie’s arm and tugging her in that direction.

“That is cheating, Lex,” Sophie said with a laugh. “Besides, I thought you were angry at my brother.”

“He doesn't know that,” Alex said as they approached. She slid in next to Simon and gave him a forceful nudge in the back. “I apologize for our late arrival, my lord. We ran into an old friend.” She batted her lashes. There was immediate grumbling from the people in line, but Alex's haughty expression silenced them.

“I thought you were going to stay in the park and let us men take care of procuring the ices,” Simon said smoothly as he rocked back on his heels.

“A gentleman, as always.” Alex smirked then offered her greetings to Lord Courtland. “How are you today, my lord?”

“Better for your company,” he said, the twinkle in his moss-green eyes bringing an unexpected smile to Sophie's face. Right away, she could tell that he was one of those genuinely happy people, the kind who not only enjoyed banter, but also excelled at it.

“You two have met already, haven't you?” Alex asked.

“Once, I think, but it's been an age,” she said, trying to recall when it was. Whenever, he hadn't made an impression, because she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

“Years would be my guess, as I've not been up from the country in at least that long.” The breeze ruffled his blond hair and he smoothed it back. His mannerism and cultured tones spoke to his noble upbringing and his expensive clothing marked him a man of means. “Pleasure to meet you again.”