Kitabı oku: «A Duke In Need Of A Wife», sayfa 3
Chapter Four
Oliver watched a little smile curve her lips and wondered what had put it there. For the first time in his life, he found himself striving to think of some topic that would keep a woman’s mind focused exclusively on what he had to say and not on whatever stray thought might pop into her head next.
‘I separated you from your relatives so that we may speak freely about Mrs Pagett,’ he bit out. It had the effect he’d hoped for since she turned inquisitive brown eyes up at him.
‘Oh, yes. Of course. How does she do? But before we get on to that, there is something I need to say first. I am sorry for speaking to you the way I did.’
‘What way was that?’
‘Well, when I first saw you. I ordered you about. You did look very offended, when I look back on it. I don’t suppose many people speak to you that way, do they? Only, the thing is, you see, I thought you were a waiter. You dressed the way the man who served at our table was dressed.’
‘That night, I was acting as a waiter.’
‘Acting? Whatever for?’
‘It was decided...that is, the committee who organised the event to celebrate the Peace with France felt that, um, it would be a good idea for men such as myself to wait on the lower orders.’
‘You mean,’ she asked, wide-eyed, ‘that all the waiters were dukes?’
‘No. I mean, all the waiters hailed from the better families about these parts.’
‘That is very radical.’
‘You disapprove? You think men of my rank should always stand on their dignity?’ His father would certainly never have demeaned himself by waiting at table. It was one of the factors that had made the experience so very satisfying, showing the world that he was nothing like the man who’d sired him.
‘Disapprove? Oh, no. I was just a bit surprised, that is all. Was it...a sort of...oh, I forgot, I’m not supposed to pepper you with questions, am I?’
Normally, he would agree. But Miss Underwood looked so contrite and the way she’d stopped before actually asking her question had piqued his interest.
‘Asking me one question is hardly peppering me with them, is it? What did you wish to know?’
‘Oh.’ She darted him a look of relief. ‘Well, I just wondered if the act had some sort of religious significance. You know, like...when Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.’
He winced. ‘Nothing so noble,’ he confessed. ‘The decision was taken for purely practical purposes. You see, what with the amount of ale supplied, there were fears from some quarters that there might be...unruliness. That it might all end in disaster.’
‘Well, it did.’
‘Yes, and I have a feeling that the ale, or some other spirituous liquor, may have played a part in it. There can be no other reason for the fireworks to have all gone up at once like that.’
‘Unless someone did it deliberately.’
That was the second time someone had raised suspicions about the causes of the explosion. ‘Why would anyone wish to do anything of the sort?’ He wondered if he’d been right to so quickly dismiss the rumours that had reached Perceval’s ears about a shadowy figure loitering behind the scaffolding not long before the fireworks display had started. He shook his head. ‘The town council put on an event for the benefit of the townspeople, paid for by the local landowners.’
‘We had to pay for our tickets.’
‘You are not locals. Those holidaying in the area were allowed to attend, if they would subscribe. That seemed fair.’
‘I suppose it was,’ she conceded. ‘Mrs Pagett still got hurt, though. And, oh, yes, you were going to tell me how she does.’
‘I fear her road to recovery may be a long one. Although this one,’ he said in disbelief, ‘is not.’
He clearly hadn’t been paying enough attention to the route along which he’d been driving because they were at the end of Marine View already. And he hadn’t said the half of what he’d meant to say to her.
‘Do you attend the assembly,’ he asked her as he brought the curricle to a halt at the foot of her front steps, ‘at the Marlborough Hotel this evening?’
‘Oh, no, the very idea!’ Sofia indicated the bruising on her face with a wry smile. ‘I could not possibly go about looking like this.’
‘Your view, or your aunt’s? No, you need not bother to reply. I believe you would be bold enough to attempt anything, without giving a rap what anyone else were to say of you.’
* * *
Sofia’s heart skipped a beat. Once upon a time, her papa had praised her for being full of pluck. But her aunt had done her best to suppress that side of her. She’d warned Sofia that, because of her background, she needed to be much more careful in her behaviour than most young ladies. And, determined to please her, she’d done her utmost to stop behaving like a ‘hoyden’—she’d curbed her language and followed all the rules, no matter how strange she’d found them.
She’d ended up so repressed that nowadays, in company, she didn’t really speak unless she was spoken to, but was more likely to sit quietly in a corner doing embroidery. The only time she allowed her deepest, truest self to emerge was when she was out walking Snowball, deep in the woods, where nobody else was about.
She’d become the sort of girl who cared so much what people thought of her and might say about her that they all found her as dull as ditch water.
But this man did not believe so. He’d seen something in her that nobody else had seen for years. And in doing so, he had reminded her of who she’d once been. Before she’d started trying so desperately to please the only people who’d been willing to take her in.
She turned to observe his expression. He looked annoyed. But then those eyebrows made him look slightly annoyed all the time. And why should she wish to know whether his observation was meant as a reproof or a compliment, anyway?
And yet, somehow, it did matter.
Perhaps because if there was one person who liked the real her, then she might find the courage to be herself, instead of the pattern card of virtue her aunt had tried to make her into. The version of herself that nobody much liked, least of all herself.
‘In that case,’ he bit out crisply, ‘I shall have to take you out for a drive again tomorrow.’
‘What? I mean, why? I mean, I’m sure that is very kind of you—’
He shook his head. ‘I am not kind, Miss Underwood. I will take you for another drive because I have not had the time today to say all I wished to say to you,’ he said irritably. ‘And because it would be impossible to have any meaningful conversation in the confines of that house.’ He glared up at the drawing-room window, through which Sofia could make out the outline of her aunt through the net curtains.
Well, in that she could agree with him. She had never had a single conversation within her aunt’s hearing that had been truly meaningful. Or in which she had dared to express her own opinions. At least, not after the first month or so of living with her, by which time she’d discovered that her manners had more in common with the sort of women who followed the drum than a Proper Young Lady.
The groom had now reached the horses’ heads, so the Duke climbed down and came round to help Sofia down. Since it was far too high for her little dog to jump down, she handed Snowball to the Duke. He received the bundle of fluff with astonishment, before bending to deposit her on the pavement with a faint grimace of distaste, though he’d wiped it from his countenance before straightening up to extend his arm to Sofia.
‘I cannot think what you can possibly have to say to me,’ she said, glancing nervously at the drawing-room window. She’d enjoyed her outing, but she was already bound to get a dreadful scold for going off with this man alone. How much worse would it be if Aunt Agnes discovered he meant to repeat the offence again the next day?
‘Mrs Pagett, if nothing else,’ he replied, following her line of sight. ‘There was not enough time to discuss...’ His brows drew into a heavy scowl. ‘Next time I call for you, do try to stick to the topic at hand rather than digressing so much.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ If he was so annoyed with her, why was he bothering to waste any more of his precious time with her? And why hadn’t he kept the conversation going in the direction he’d wanted, come to that? She’d felt as if he’d been positively encouraging her to ask questions. But then, what did she know about what dukes considered good conversation? What any single man thought, come to that. She’d only really mixed with people carefully selected by her aunt and uncle. And the only single man they’d thrown in her way had been Jack, Uncle Ned’s nephew.
The Duke of Theakstone escorted Sofia to her front door, but did not come in. For a moment, she resented the way he’d abandoned her entirely to the mercy of Aunt Agnes.
Although, she reflected as she took off her coat, even if he had come in it would only have postponed the confrontation, not spared her from it altogether. She had flouted her aunt’s wishes and escaped her strict scrutiny. There was nothing anyone, not even a duke, could do to prevent her aunt from lecturing her.
But she was not going to take it lying down like a...a doormat. She would do better to spike Aunt Agnes’s guns.
So she entered the drawing room in what she hoped looked like an apologetic manner.
‘I do hope you are not angry with me, Aunt Agnes,’ she said while her aunt was still drawing breath. ‘But the Duke of Theakstone is such a forceful man that when he told me to go and put on my coat, it felt like a direct order. And I didn’t know how to disobey him.’
Her aunt regarded her through narrowed eyes for a moment or two before appearing to accept Sofia’s explanation. But then, why wouldn’t she? Sofia had worked so hard to conform to her aunt’s exacting standards that for the last couple of years she’d behaved like a veritable milksop.
Until the day she’d heard Jack mocking her behaviour and she’d begun to wonder why she’d bothered. She could never be anything but the product of a slightly shocking marriage between an Englishman and a foreigner. A Catholic, to boot. And why should she try to shoehorn her personality into the mould her aunt and uncle deemed ‘proper’, when they were so intent on pushing her in Jack’s direction so that he could benefit from the money she would inherit?
Especially since it was the only reason he would consider her as a wife.
‘I will have to marry someone, some day,’ he’d said. ‘So why not her? She may be boring, but at least she’s biddable. In fact,’ he’d boasted, ‘she rather idolises me. I will only have to drop the handkerchief, you know, and she will go into raptures. And then all that lovely money of hers will be mine to spend as I wish. Once she’s breeding, I can leave her in the country and have some real fun.’ They’d both laughed, then, in a way that had turned her stomach.
Drop the handkerchief, indeed! He’d have to do more than drop a handkerchief. In fact, he could weave and embroider and hem a dozen handkerchiefs and it would make no difference. She was most categorically not going to marry Jack. Not now she knew what he really thought of her. Not now she knew he was the kind of man who’d marry a woman for her money, so he could go out and enjoy himself with other women. Because that was what that dirty laughter had been about. She’d spent the first ten years of her life with a father who was a serving soldier and he had most decidedly not lived like a monk once her mama had died. On the contrary, Sofia had lost count of the number of ladies who’d lived with them, ostensibly as nursemaids to her, but who always, always, shared her papa’s bed. Nobody, he’d told her, could replace her mama. She need never fear that he would ever call another woman his wife. But they needed somebody, didn’t they, to take care of them?
Take care of them? Hah! The moment she’d heard her papa was dead, Maria, his latest lady friend, had promptly ransacked their billet for anything of value before leaving to secure another ‘protector’.
Which was yet another reason, she sighed as she went to take her place on her usual chair, that she’d taken such pains to become whatever her aunt and uncle wanted her to become. She’d been so grateful they’d taken her in and told her she must consider Nettleton Manor her home, that she would have cut off all her hair and dyed her face blue if they’d so much as hinted it would guarantee her safety.
‘Did His Grace say something to upset you?’ asked Aunt Agnes with a slight frown.
‘Upset me? The Duke? No.’ On the contrary, he’d reminded her of who she really was. Or at least, who she had once been...and could become again if only she could summon the courage to stand up for herself a bit more.
‘Well, you look a trifle out of sorts.’
Which was the effect that thinking about Jack always had on her, these days.
‘What did you discuss, Sofia?’
‘Oh, Snowball, at first,’ said Sofia, bending to stroke her faithful dog’s ears. ‘And the state of my health and why I hadn’t had a court presentation,’ she said, darting a swift glance up at her aunt from under her eyelashes, to see what effect that statement might have.
‘Those are all rather personal questions. No wonder you are upset.’
‘Yes, but then dukes probably think they can say what they like, to whomever they wish.’ He’d certainly had no compunction about giving Aunt Agnes a set-down.
A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the moment. Oh, but it had felt so good to have someone rush to her defence. Even if it had been totally unnecessary.
‘Why are you smiling like that?’
‘Oh, well, because he said he would be calling to take me out driving again tomorrow,’ she said as meekly as she could.
‘Without consulting me?’
Sofia shrugged. ‘He’s a duke. I don’t suppose he is in the habit of consulting anyone about anything before doing exactly as he wishes.’
‘And he wishes to take you out in his curricle again,’ said Aunt Agnes with amazement. As if there was no accounting for taste.
Rather than explain that he’d practically reprimanded her for obliging him to waste yet another afternoon on her, Sofia shrugged again.
And smiled.
Chapter Five
Oliver clenched his teeth, went down the steps, across the pavement and climbed back into the driver’s seat.
Dammit, the girl had done it again. Diverted him from his original plan. He’d known exactly what he’d wanted to say while tooling her round the lanes and along the seafront this afternoon. It shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. But somehow the time had slipped through his fingers like water and before he knew it he was drawing up outside her lodgings having barely touched on any of the items on his agenda. An agenda which he’d drawn up, he reflected as he flicked the whip to set his horses in motion, as a means of passing the time profitably during an outing he’d never meant to take in the first place.
He reached the end of Theakstone Crescent and turned left to take the road up the hill away from the bay, eyeing the neat rows of lodging houses with mixed feelings. Normally he felt a good deal of family pride at the visible proof of the way his grandfather had transformed the fortunes of the people living in what had merely been a mean little fishing village by developing Burslem Bay into a seaside resort. But today, there was also an undercurrent of disquiet. If his grandfather hadn’t wanted more for his guests to do at his nearby hunting box, when there was nothing left on the moors to shoot, Oliver might never have met Miss Underwood. She didn’t mix in the same social circles, even if her grandfather was an earl.
Which was probably why she had no idea how to behave, when presented to a duke. No other female would have handed him a dog, as though he was a mere footman. Or prattled on about the first thing that came into her head as though he was just anybody.
Although, to be fair, she had apologised once or twice when she felt she’d crossed a line. She appeared to know that she ought not to be so familiar with him, but simply couldn’t help herself.
He thought about that for several hundred yards.
And then recalled the slightly anxious way Miss Underwood had glanced up at the front window, as if she could sense somebody watching her.
His brows drew down as he went back further still, to the aunt’s reaction to his decree Miss Underwood was to go out driving with him, alone but for a groom. He’d been too annoyed when he’d deposited her on her front step to notice it, but now that he was going over the scene again, he could see that she’d been bracing herself for a scold.
He supposed he should have gone in with Miss Underwood, and... He drew in a sharp breath. Wasted even more of his afternoon on her behalf? No, it was as well he hadn’t felt the urge to shield her at the time.
It was bad enough that she made him act out of character as far as she had done. He held to that opinion until he was clear of the town. But once he’d reached the open moorland which surrounded Burslem House and there was no traffic upon which to focus his mind, he slowed his horses to a sedate trot, to give himself more time to work out what, precisely, it was about Miss Underwood that made him act so unlike himself, every single time they met.
It wasn’t as if she exerted herself, especially, as far as he could tell. She didn’t pout, or preen, or simper, or flutter her eyelashes at him, like the eligible debutantes with whom he’d been mingling during the Season. She didn’t hang on his every word, but spoke to him in a frank and open manner that was...actually, it was rather refreshing, in a way, to come across a female who didn’t appear to have any idea how to flirt.
Or no wish to flirt, as far as he could tell.
Or at least, not with him.
Her mind clearly kept wandering far from him. He’d almost been able to see the thoughts flitting across her face.
And he hadn’t liked it. Any other woman would have been hanging on to his every word. Making the most of the situation to...to sink her claws into him. Because every other female of his acquaintance knew he was on the hunt for a bride this Season.
Her slight air of distraction, of being untouchable, had made him want to do something to make her take notice of him. That was why he’d invited her to drive out with him again, he saw now. He wasn’t falling under some sort of subtle female spell. She’d simply roused a very basic male urge to hunt, to conquer, that was all it was.
His mouth relaxed from its grim line as he drove through the stone pillars marking the start of the drive up to Burslem House. Because he’d finally understood why he’d invited her to drive out with him again. He wasn’t going soft. On the contrary, her apparent lack of interest had piqued him; she seemed so unattainable that he was rising to the challenge she represented.
By the time he pulled the curricle to a halt before the front steps, he was no longer frowning. Because he’d formulated a plan.
His groom jumped down and went to take the horses’ heads. His butler opened the door before he’d reached the top step. His head footman took his hat, coat and gloves, and then an under-footman opened the door to his study where a third, more junior servant was engaged in pouring him out a tankard of fresh ale. Perceval, who’d been sitting at his own desk, working through a pile of correspondence, got to his feet, ready to attend him.
Oliver took a pull of his ale and let out a sigh as his life resumed its orderly pattern, with everyone knowing their duties and performing them like clockwork.
Except...
He put down his tankard. ‘I have been having some thoughts about the house party we are to hold at Theakstone Court next week.’
Perceval blinked.
Oliver turned and walked round his desk. He didn’t like the reminder that normally, at this point, he would have been asking his secretary if there were any urgent matters that had cropped up while he was out that needed attending to before they got down to the vast amount of estate matters to which he devoted this hour of the afternoon.
He sat down, steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned back in his chair. Now that he’d decided to take a bride, he’d worked out that the most obvious way to determine which of this Season’s crop of debutantes would best fit the role would be to invite a select few to his principal seat. During the week they would stay there, he would be able to observe them more closely than he’d been able to do in town.
Because, on the face of it, there was little to choose between the handful of the most eligible, in the eyes of society. They were all well born, with perfect society manners and the usual feminine accomplishments. Which was just the trouble. He had no idea what lay behind the façade of good manners...if anything at all. At times he suspected they might all be just empty shells.
At least Miss Underwood was transparent. She said whatever popped into her head without thinking. Even when she was thinking, he could practically see her thoughts flitting across that expressive little face. Some people, he reflected, might describe her as a breath of fresh air.
‘I wish you to add another family to the guest list.’
‘At this late date?’
Oliver raised one eyebrow in affront.
‘The staff at Theakstone Court are well able to make the necessary arrangements in time. Or they should be,’ he concluded repressively.
‘Your Grace has possibly not taken into consideration the time required to contact the family in question, as well as awaiting a response from them before notifying Mrs Manderville,’ said Perceval apologetically.
‘Are you implying that anyone would be likely to turn down an invitation to spend a week at Theakstone Court?’ Most people would give their right arm to receive such an honour. ‘Especially not once I inform them of what is at stake.’
‘Then you would wish me to send the invitations to the, ah, fortunate young lady and her family at the same time as I notify Mrs Manderville to make rooms ready for her family’s arrival?’
‘That would be the most efficient course to take,’ said Oliver, wondering why his secretary had not thought of that in the first place.
‘And the, ah, young lady in question?’ Perceval went to his desk and dipped his pen in his inkwell.
‘Miss Underwood. She is eligible,’ he added, when Perceval’s pen hovered in mid-air for long enough to let a drop of ink splash on to the blotter. ‘As you yourself pointed out, she is the niece to the present Earl of Tadcaster as well as being the granddaughter of the former holder of that title.’ And more to his taste, physically, than any of the other, better-born young ladies he’d considered taking as his Duchess. She might have many flaws, but at least he wouldn’t find it a chore to produce the necessary heir, were she to become the bride in his bed.
Nor was she likely to bore him, the way the other candidates for the position already did.
What was more, he’d already discovered that she had a compassionate nature. True, all the other girls on his list had a reputation for being caring, but he hadn’t actually seen any of them rushing to the aid of an injured woman of the lower classes. Nor had they any idea what it was like to be torn from the only family they’d known and sent to live among strangers. Which would mean she would know exactly how his own little daughter felt. The daughter whose existence he’d only recently discovered.
In fact, he couldn’t imagine why he’d only just decided to consider Miss Underwood as a potential bride. The others might fill the role of Duchess more smoothly, but she was exactly the kind of woman he’d hoped to find to become a mother for Livvy.
Yes, no matter what the rest of the ton might think of his choice, in many ways she was exactly what he was looking for.
