Spinning about, the atrocious night rail spilling about her ankles, Sophia flung open her own door to find…Timmons?
“Your Grace,” the butler bowed, averting his eyes as if he hadn’t seen far worse at Roxboro’s butler.
Sophia made to pass him and enter Roxboro’s rooms, but the butler stayed in place before the door.
“I wish to speak to Roxboro.”
“The duke is not…here at present.” Timmons surveyed her with a look of pity. “His Grace has gone out for the evening in the company of Lord Damon.”
The words, heavy and more hurtful than she wished them to be, sank into her skin.
How utterly humiliating.
Roxboro couldn’t even be bothered to tell Sophia he planned to avoid her on their wedding night. While she stood here, with his bloody butler, in this stupid confection of silk and lace. Abandoned.Like an ill-fitting shoe. Given his past behavior, Sophia should have expected as much, but he’d been so kind at their breakfast and—
“I see,” Sophia said as imperiously as she could. “Good night, Timmons.”
“Your Grace.”
She hurried back to her own door and shut the heavy wood firmly behind her. Roxboro didn’t find her desirable and never had. Yes, he’d been cordial earlier today, but he’d only been putting on a show for her family and Caster. If he didn’t care to bed her, consummate their marriage, who was Sophia to question her good fortune. She and Roxboro would lead separate lives.
Her eyes landed on the bottle of wine.
“Well, if he isn’t going to remain sober on our wedding night, I see no reason for me to. I’m relieved, naygratifiedthat I won’t have to suffer his attentions.”
Which was only partially a lie.
Flopping into the chair, Sophia decided not to bother with the glass.
Chapter Sixteen
Sophia swallowed downwhat remained of the wine, lifting the bottle to her lips until not a drop was left.
Drat.
She’d done nothing since her discussion with Timmons but drink wine, scribble out a list of character flaws for Roxboro until she ran out of paper, and stew at yet another humiliation she was suffering at his hands. Sophia glanced down at her list, blinking away the blurriness from her vision.
Drinks far too much.
Excessive arrogance.
Compromises young ladies and doesn’t recall doing so.
Annoying wit.
Sophia thought for a moment.
Far too handsome.
“I need more wine.” Sophia came to her feet, nearly fell over but grabbed the arm of her chair. Ann said she hadn’t been able to find the wine cellar, but obviously, there must be one in this brick monstrosity of a house. Likely near the kitchens. A footman might help her if one was about.
Or, God forbid, Timmons.
She stumbled out of the room, whipping the lace and ribbons behind her, carefully to hold up the edges lest she trip. Clinging to the banister, Sophia made her way carefully down the stairs. “Can you imagine what the gossips would say?” she said out loud. “The Dukeand Duchess of Roxboro,” she snorted. “Both taken far too young by drunken mishaps.” She snorted. “Well, I must say, I can see why my husband enjoys an excess of spirits. It’s quite euphoric.”
No Timmons lurking about. Nor a footman, which was unfortunate. There was a light flickering at the end of the hall, which meant the kitchen must be in that direction. She hoped.
Sophia started towards the light, trailing her fingers along the wall to keep her balance.
