Roxboro had politely, but firmly, declined Mama’s suggestions as had Lord Damon. Papa, in a shocking display of defiance, agreed.
Sophia and the duke would be wed at St. Paul’s in front of a large assortment of important personages, and leave the church in an open carriage, so that all of London might share in their joyous occasion, but that was all Roxboro had agreed to.
Sophia was vastly relieved.
The ice blue gown, created out of a silk so sheer the fabric shimmered in the light, hung upstairs. Mama always insisted Sophia dress in blue, claiming the color highlighted her hair. She would carry a nosegay of lilies and Mamainsistedon the sapphire bracelet. The same bracelet lost the night of the Perswick ball. A tense discussion followed when she’d had to admit to misplacing the bracelet.
Mama was not pleased.
What followed was a scouring of the house by the staff who of course, did not find the bracelet, possibly because Sophia was certain it was in hiding in the grass of Lady Perswick’s garden.
I’ll send a note once I’m…the Duchess of Roxboro.When Lady Perswick would be less likely to ignore her.
Papa walked into the room, pausing to look at the three of them with a pleased smile. “My lovely girls. Has ever a man been so blessed?” He came forward to kiss Mama’s cheek. “And you the fairest of them all.”
Mama playfully swatted him. “My lord, the things you say.”
Papa gave Mara a kiss before lightly touching the top of Sophia’s head. “It will all work out, moppet,” he whispered to her. “I’ll make sure of it.”
That was what she feared.
Powell, the Canterbell butler, appeared a few moments later. “My lord. His Grace, the Duke of Roxboro and Lord Damon Viceroy.” He stood aside, ushering the two men in.
Roxboro entered first, so bloody beautiful and elegant in appearance that it hurt Sophia’s eyes. Her heart flapped about inside her chest at the sight of him, watching as all that controlled sensuality stalked towards the three Canterbell women. When they’d driven through the park together, ladies walking together had halted to stare at him. Even their maids grew flustered. There was a reason he was known as one of the worst rogues London had ever produced.
Perhaps that was why Roxboro had chosen to amuse himself with Sophia on that fateful night. She’d been something of a lark for a jaded libertine. But even a reminder that he’d been so cruel to her did nothing to dispel Roxboro’s allure. Watching him now, Sophia didn’t wonder she’d followed him so blindly into the garden without a care for her reputation or whether he was deliberately leading her astray.
There wasn’t a woman in London who would object to his attentions.
Mara made a sound. One of appreciation. Her entire body bowed in Roxboro’s direction.
Oh, good grief.
The magnificent picture Roxboro presented ended a second later, however, when he stumbled, hit the edge of a table and nearly upended a vase of flowers.
There’s the Roxboro I know. Sot.
Sophia observed the tips of his ears, pink like the underside of a seashell, a sign he was embarrassed by his clumsiness. She’d observed the same reaction before and in neither instance, had she thought him foxed.
Was it more acceptable to stumble about as a duke in his cups than one who was merely…awkward at times? She thought it might be.
I will not feel sorry for him.
“Apologies, Lady Canterbell. Lord Canterbell.” Roxboro righted himself, grabbing the vase before it could fall to the floor. “My toe caught on the edge of the rug, which I must say, is uniquely lovely.”
Papa merely gave a small shake of his head, assuming Roxboro already full of brandy. “Your Grace.”
Mama rushed towards him. “I’ve never cared for that vase at any rate, Your Grace. Had it broken, no one would mourn its loss. Powell,” she said to the butler. “There is a loose bit of fringe on the rug. Make sure it is corrected before someone else harms themselves.” She presented her hand for Roxboro to take and dipped. “We are so pleased you could dine with us, Your Grace.”
“I understand you set a fine table, my lady,” Roxboro returned. “I would never miss such an invitation.” A half-smile tilted his lips. A lovely one.
Mama fluttered her lashes, already taken in by his charm, just as she’d been when he’d called a few weeks ago at the beginning of this farce.
“My eldest daughter, Lady Mara,” Papa introduced Sophia’s sister.
Mara’s curtsey, as usual, was nothing short of spectacular. Skirts pluming out around her like the unfurling of a rose bud. Not a hair out of place, the golden strands sparkling in the light of the drawing room,giving the impression she glowed. Or wore a halo. As she lowered her chin, one curl artfully glanced off her shoulder.
In short, Mara was utterly flawless in both appearance and manner.
