Lord Will & Her Grace (15 page)

Sophie had had to be careful exiting her
Aunt's townhouse. She had rushed into carriages, went to small
affairs where she knew the guest list in advance, and ruthlessly
interrupted Mr. Mornington's stuttering pleas on behalf of that,
that poor excuse of a gentleman.

Every day that passed solidified Sophie's
anger at William's deception. She had gained proof of his fiscal
woes when she had attended a glittering ton event in one of the
most beautiful, opulent mansions in Mayfair the first week of her
return. Sophie had overheard two elderly gentlemen tut-tutting
about its forced sale.

"Shocking, Winthrop, shocking, indeed," said
one.

"The poor lads of Granville had no choice but
to sell this place—the marquis has not reappeared and it's been
what? Years, I tell you."

"I hear tell the marquis was last seen in
France—in that devil Boney's court no less."

"Well, at least we still have his magnificent
pile to enjoy. Our hosts have dusted it off quite nicely."

Yes, it was painfully clear to Sophie that
William had never cared two straws for her—only for her
inheritance, otherwise he would have found a way, despite her
refusal to see him, to throw himself prostrate on his knees to beg
her forgiveness. And the angrier she became, the more brittle and
thick the shell in which she had encased herself grew. She would
never, ever, open herself to heartbreak again.

She knew the game well now. She had learned
it from the best. And Karine had furthered her education.
Uninterest, feigned or—much better— real, was the most potent
aphrodisiac in the
ton
. She had become adept at her façade.
Sophie had become archly unattainable and had maintained a
mysterious air.

The one trait Sophie possessed that Karine
had been unable to filter from her was her inherent compassionate
nature. It was the ingredient that made her different from the
other more haughty, jaded females. Within days the gentlemen of
London had risen uniformly in a fevered pitch of interest,
jockeying for position at each event she attended.

There was only one reason she was willing to
put herself through the rigors of a London courtship instead of
tromping back to Porthcall, whose distant, haunting past beckoned
her in her dreams. After her initial burst of anger had cooled, she
thought about the people she loved and who loved her—Aunt Rutledge,
Mari and a scattering of her mother's relatives in Wales, as well
as some of the people in Burnham-by-the-Sea.

After seeing the good she had been able to
wrought in Burnham with her contributions to the school, the poor
and the infirm combined with the opportunity of securing a
wonderful spouse for Mari as well as possibly some, if not all, of
her Welsh cousins, Sophie knew in her heart and her mind, that she
could not pass up this chance to help so many of her own.

Perhaps her initial plan to return to London
had been borne by a stinging desire to retaliate in kind to Lord
Will. But now it had grown into so much more. She realized that she
had been cowardly and selfish when she had refused to heed Mari's
arguments last spring. Then, she had been a pious spinster, unsure
of herself and in possession of a dreadful trusting nature. The
solitary life of a recluse, without familial or societal burdens,
had proved too tempting. Now she was a fully grown woman and as
such could not evade the responsibilities to her family.

Sophie was roused from her thoughts by the
signal of a footman. Within moments, she, along with Aunt Rutledge,
Mrs. Crosby and Mari, was bustled into the dark blue lacquered
closed carriage with the gold ornate Cornwallis "C" emblazoned on
each side. The door latch had not even caught before Aunt Rutledge
let loose her displeasure.

"Really, Sophie, you have been here for less
than a month, and I don't know whether I should congratulate you on
your successes or be thoroughly put out." Her old aunt's plumage
was shaking mightily. "Tonight's ball was a classic example. I
thought I might expire when I saw you waltzing with Lord Drummond.
The look on Sally Jersey's face—well, you may be assured your name
will never cross the patronesses' collective lips along with any
compliments."

Mrs. Crosby waved a perfumed handkerchief in
front of Aunt Rutledge's nose.

"Thank you kindly, Gladys."

Sophie sighed. "At nine and twenty I should
not have to seek permission to waltz and besides, I thought you
would be pleased by all the attention, Aunt." Sophie looked for
support from Mari and her aunt's companion, Mrs. Crosby, a distant
cousin of the same age as the dowager who was indebted to her grand
cousin for taking her in.

Mrs. Crosby said nothing, preferring to
concentrate on the carriage lamp. Sophie widened her eyes and made
an encouraging motion to Mari.

"Well," Mari interjected softly, "you must
agree that Sophie has been successful at attracting several
admirers. Was that not the point of returning here? I would not
listen to the old biddies."

"I beg your pardon?" Aunt Rutledge huffed. "I
am one of those old biddies you speak of! And twelve suitors is not
my idea of several." She turned to Sophie. "Your character is being
called into question, gel, and yet you sit there cool as can be
with that odious cat-in-the-cream-pot expression you have so
recently acquired. What can you be thinking?"

Sophie had learned that her aunt pretended a
ferociousness that she rarely, in truth, embodied. In fact, Sophie
sometimes believed that her aunt delighted in this marrying
business more than any of them. "Everything is going better than I
had hoped, Aunt. Was it not a stroke of good luck that wager Lord
Drummond put in the betting book at his club? I am much obliged to
him and shall remember to ask my future husband to make a toast to
him during the wedding breakfast."

A strange sound came from the corner. Sophie
saw that it was Mrs. Crosby attempting to stifle a giggle.

"Gladys," Aunt Rutledge said, "don't
encourage her. And you, missy"—she turned to Sophie—"are treading
on remarkably thin ice. I find nothing amusing, whatsoever, about
the audacious antics of that Drummond boy. He opened you and other
ladies up to being accosted by every member of White's. Honestly…
wagering that you had the most—what was it?"

"Arousing kiss," the three ladies answered
simultaneously.

"That was it.
Most arousing kiss in
London
. Give me my smelling salts, Gladys. And now all my
acquaintances are furious, saying that every gentleman in town is
trying to find a lady who, who can— Oh, heaven forbid! I can't
believe I have been put in the position to discuss this most vulgar
topic. Why in my day, a young lady—"

"Yes, I know, Aunt Rutledge. I am sorry. But
Lord Drummond's actions are not my fault."

"Well, I say it is your fault that the ladies
of good ton are all in danger of being mauled behind every hothouse
bit of shrubbery at evening entertainments. And you, gel, are those
young bucks' primary target—for comparison purposes apparently.
Really, Sophie!"

Sophie swallowed her smile. "Oh, Aunt
Rutledge, you know that isn't true. And besides, I think most of
the young ladies and old are secretly delighted to have an eligible
gentleman give them a chaste kiss. It might even give the mothers a
chance to force those selfsame young bucks into making an offer.
They should thank me." Sophie yawned and leaned back into the
well-padded squabs of the carriage, finally releasing all the
tension in her back.

Mari shook her head. "The transformation is
complete. Your father is turning in his grave."

Aunt Rutledge pushed away the smelling salts
Mrs. Crosby had placed under her nose. "They are calling you the
Hoyden Heiress in earnest now. And I'm afraid I am going to have to
withdraw my support for your inheritance as I do not see how you
will be able to secure a proper match. If only you had accepted
Lord Coddington. He was everything proper and charming. But, I
promised not to— Never mind. Now then, where was I? Yes, I promised
my brother I would not sign the papers granting you the title and
the inheritance unless you married a gentleman of good
ton
capable of guiding you to ensure the proper continuance of the
dukedom. I fear I will be forced—"

"I have had four offers from acceptable
gentlemen in the last week," Sophie said quietly. She examined the
extremely low bodice of her evening gown.

"What!" the three ladies cried. Mrs. Crosby
dropped the smelling salts and Mari lowered a handkerchief she had
raised to her face.

"Four offers. One from Mr. Hornsby over
asparagus and aspic, following tonight's supper dance, one from
Lord Drummond, in Hyde Park last week, of course. Then there was
the offer from His Grace, the Duke of Isleton, but that one is out
of the question. I refuse to marry a gentleman seven years younger
than I. The final offer came from that Marquis… Dalrymple. I told
him I would take his offer under consideration but I think I'll not
have him even though he is kind and I dare not hurt his feelings.
His expression reminds me too much of a hound and his embrace left
me feeling, well…
pawed over
."

"Outrageous. You are beyond the pale and
completely lacking the moral fiber required of a duchess."

"I do beg your pardon, Aunt." Sophie
unconsciously curled her aching toes in her dancing slippers. "But
I thought a bit of plain speaking between family only, of course,
was in order. And since I agreed to offer myself to the most
eligible gentleman in exchange for the full-to-bursting coffers of
Cornwallis, I thought I should tell you how the game stands. I know
how important an heir to the dukedom is to you, and I want to
please you, Aunt Rutledge. I will of course accept the marquis, or
Lord Drummond if I cannot find a better aspirant by the end of the
Season. Oh, I almost forgot. Lord Coddington renewed his
acquaintance with me too, tonight, although he cannot compete with
the other two gentlemen. Do you agree, Aunt Rutledge?"

Sophie glanced at her aunt whose countenance
had gone from red to white in moments. Aunt Rutledge hemmed and
hawed and finally spoke. "Well, now that you mention it, I have
always thought Lionel Coddington would be an eminently perfect
match for you. Our family has known his for many years and his
character is without blemish. If you accept his suit, I shall sign
the papers immediately and we can end this horrid search. And if we
are diligent enough, we should be able to put everything to
rights." Aunt Rutledge picked up one of Sophie's hands and patted
it. "You know, my dear, I worry my health is in decline. And it is
my dearest wish to see my brother's affairs all settled before I
depart this mortal coil."

"You trust and like Lord Coddington very
much, do you, Aunt? This would make you happy? I long to make you
happy." Sophie released her aunt's hands and pulled the ends of her
silk shawl tighter. "I suppose we would rub along together as well
as most of the husbands and wives of the aristocracy."

"And what is more," Aunt Rutledge continued
with more vigor, "he knows the Cornwallis properties and would
surely do well by them. Visited them many a time with his father
over the years. Oh, Sophie, I know he will make you happy. You must
trust my instincts."

Sophie sighed. "Would you mind very much if I
put off my decision for the moment, Aunt? I promise to think
carefully about what you have said. Lord Coddington has not
actually made me another formal offer, yet."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Mrs.
Crosby nudge Aunt Rutledge.

"Oh, yes, my dear, Sophie. I would not force
this on you. Let us wait to see how it goes. I only ask you to
consider him in the best possible light. And, my dear, do take
better care in future. I'm mortally tired of hearing your name on
every gossip's lips."

Aunt Rutledge looked as if she was about to
continue her admonishments but the abrupt halt of the carriage
forbade it. The gloved hand of a servant reached into the carriage
and Sophie, who was closest to the door, followed by Mari,
descended from the carriage.

Gladys Crosby placed a staying hand on her
cousin when Agnes Rutledge moved her plumed bulk across the
carriage's bench in anticipation of the servant's hand. "You should
be ashamed of yourself, Agnes. Trying to force Coddington down her
throat when she has two eminently desirable offers. She has no
interest whatsoever in the boy."

Agnes Somerset Rutledge, the elder—by fifteen
years—and only sister of the recently deceased Duke of Cornwallis,
made defensive sounds.

"You think I don't know what you're about?"
asked Gladys. "Well, I won't allow you to force her to marry the
son of the man you still pine for. It is patently evident to me you
hope to live vicariously through your niece. Shame on you. No one
else has the nerve to stand up to you. And I don't care if you send
me away for forcing you to hear the truth of the matter."