“Girls.” Mama clapped her hands. “You are young ladies, not children. Sophia and Roxboro have been courting in secret,” she ground out. “Nothing improper occurred. They were only indiscreet and it is a splendid match. That is the truth.” She took another sip of ratafia. “I do not wish to hear anything to the contrary.”
Sophia snorted and flopped into a chair.
“Things could be worse. Look who Miss Walton had to wed. Lord Dram has that unsightly mole on his cheek and a corpulent form.”
“Lord Dram is a lovely man.” Mama made a chuffing sound, trying not to hold back her amusement. “But I quite agree on the mole. Your sister makes an excellent point.”
“Roxboro lacks moral turpitude,” Sophia insisted, though the argument was pointless. “His character is corrupt. His wit is as practiced as is his charm and fueled by a great deal of spirits.”
“Perhaps your father and I should have sent you to that dreary convent in Scotland instead of allowing you to wed a handsome duke. What punishment,” Mama snapped back at her. “We are all aware that your opinion of this match is not favorable, but have you given one thought to what our family has suffered? The scandal? If I must tolerate the whispers of Lady Stafford and Hortensia, I would rather do so as the mother of a duchess.” She took a deep breath. “Frankly, Sophia, we are all exhausted with hearing of how terrible this must be foryou.”
“It is quite awful. Because—”
“Becauseyouwent into the gardens with him willingly. Accordingto Lady Brokeburst, you were practically skipping. Grinning like some deranged inmate of Bedlam. He did not drag you screaming out to the terrace.” Mama’s features hardened. “Youdesiredhis attention.Allowedhim to take liberties.” She let out a puff of frustration. “Stop behaving as if he’s wronged you. You are to blame as well.”
Sophia fell back against the cushions with a small gasp. She turned away from her mother and sister as they proceeded to dissect the merits of tulle over damask. Biting back a sob, one filled with a great deal of misery and self-realization, Sophia stared at a portrait of a bluebird on the wall without truly seeing it.
Mama was right, no matter how much Sophia didn’t want her to be.
*
Stop behaving asif he’s wronged you.
Alexander halted at the entrance to the drawing room, waving aside Powell who appeared like a shadow beside him. “No need to announce me. I thank you for your attention to my requests through dinner, Powell. And your discretion.”
Lady Canterbell’s little speech, no matter how correct, struck a sour note with him. Alexander had ascertained that his future wife was not only annoyed that he didn’t recognize her, but believed a far graver injustice had been visited upon her. Other than being compromised. That much was clear from the conversation he’d managed to overhear.
Well, that certainly explains the hostility.
What else had been done or said to her that night—and Alexander still wasn’t completely ready to admit it had been him—to distress Sophia to such a degree. Did he insult Lord Canterbell? Invite her to join he and another woman—no, they were in the gardens. Alexander preferred a bed for such activities. What could possibly have transpired?
Curious.
Damon was still in Canterbell’s study, crowing over some ancient map of Rome hanging on the wall. But Alexander had wanted a private word with Lady Sophia, so he made an excuse to join the ladies in the drawing room. He might have to accept he had been at the Perswick ball, because he couldn’t prove otherwise. But not a bit of Sophia’s story made sense. Besides the absolute dislike of Lady Perswick—he’d had Timmons find every invitation Alexander had received in the last two months and not one was from her—Alexander had never once attempted to seduce a young lady of good family. Not even when they tossed themselves at him, which happened with great regularity. Damon had warned him away from such women his entire life. He would never have stepped out of…bounds, given what had happened to his father.
You don’t wish to end up like Charles, do you? Trapped and unhappily wed to a scheming skirt.
Lady Marianne, Alexander’s mother, had been a spoiled, well-bred young lady who set her sights on becoming a duchess from the moment she’d spied Charles across a ballroom. Impropriety followed. Her ambitions and lack of any desire for her husband became clear in the first year of their marriage, with Marianne declaring that the moment she birthed an heir she would leave for the Continent.
But conceiving Alexander had not come easy. Marianne hadn’t wanted to ruin her lovely form, according to Damon. Her earlier pregnancies ended…rather abruptly. Charles found out she had an account at the local apothecary. And a lover. His greatest rival in Parliament. Cotswold.
Alexander longed to confront Cotswold. But he had died shortly after Marianne.
All of which was to say that he would never, under any circumstances, seduce some well-bred virgin. He was intimately aware of what could transpire. Nor did he want to end up like Charles. The young ladies of thetonwere to a fault, ruthless and calculating, especially if you were a duke. The fact that he was prone to everywicked excess in England didn’t put any of them off.
Especially not this young lady, who was far more intelligent than most.
And terrible.
“Lady Sophia,” Alexander said from the door, watching as she jumped at the sound of his voice, likely shocked he’d used her name. “I would love to see the gardens. Perhaps you could show them to me.” He made a quick bow to Lady Canterbell. “With your permission, my lady.”
“There are flying…insects,” Sophia grumbled. “And it is dark. You won’t see anything.” She turned from him. “And I’m rather full of duck.”
Good lord, she was sour.
“The servants have lit the torches along the path, and it is a perfectly lovely evening for a stroll,” Lady Canterbell said pointedly to her daughter. “I feel certain it will help the duck to settle. Please enjoy the night air, Your Grace.”
“But—” the little twit protested. “Fine.” Her lips pulled tight as she stood and waltzed past Alexander and into the hall without so much as taking his arm. “Come along.”
