Stubbornly, she did not go to check on him.
Stone wasn’t available, as he was still visiting his mother, but Barstow could deal with Roxboro.
The butler said little in relaying Roxboro’s messages to Sophia, but she could read the censure in his eyes well enough since Barstow made no effort to hide it. She did not bother to explain her avoidance of the duke, because as a duchess, there was no need to explain herself to anyone. Putting some distance between she and Roxboro seemed prudent. A matter of self-preservation. Sophia’s emotions were far too unwieldy where her husband was concerned.
The only bit of good news, in addition to Roxboro’s recovery, was that Lord Damon had still not been located. According to his staff, Lord Damon had gone to join Lady Falmouth and his daughters at yet another house party. But when a note was sent, Lady Falmouth replied that Damon was not with them. She wanted to come to The Pillory immediately, but Sophia assured her that Roxboro was on the mend and would return to London shortly.
His Grace says his uncle may have gone fishing in Hampshire, Barstow informed her.
Sophia’s delay in sending word to Damon had mattered not a whit, it seemed, so she decided not to feel guilty over doing so any further. He was bound to arrive eventually, much like potato blight.
Gravel crunched on the path winding through the garden, stopping behind her. A throat cleared.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” came Barstow’s voice. “But the duke requests you attend him. He is quite insistent.”
“Roxboro is always insistent. Has…the fever returned? His wounds reopened?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Has he had any brandy? Scotch?”
“No, Your Grace, though he continues to ask.”
She’d made sure Barstow and the rest of the staff was informed that Roxboro was not permitted spirits. Not until he was healed. Anyone handing him so much as a thimble of brandy would be sacked immediately. She hadn’t nursed him—her heart clenched—only to allow him to fall back into his old habits. Barstow had explained to her that his uncle had been truly addicted to spirits, body and soul. But Roxboro didn’t seem as far gone.
Still, Sophia was not willing to take the chance. Roxboro could be angry all he wished. He would hate her soon enough when she confessed. Plenty of time to become a sot again.
She returned to her book which had been open to the same page for the better part of an hour because Sophia couldn’t seem to concentrate. “Then please inform the duke that I am busy at present. I shall attend him another time. Tell him I’ve gone for a walk. Or…into the village.”
Barstow clasped his hands before him. “Your Grace—” He nodded towards the house. “He has been watching you since you came into the gardens. He ordered me to pull a chair to the window. I do apologize. As I said, he is most insistent.”
Dear God.
“Duchess,” Roxboro’s dark rumble echoed over the lawn to where she sat. “I see you.”
Sophia snapped her book shut. It wasn’t holding her interest, at any rate. She was going to have to face Roxboro, it seemed, or he’d scream the house down.
“Inform the duke I shall be along presently.”
Behaving like a child.Again.Yelling into the gardens. Did he have not an ounce of respect for his status? Dukes did not summon their wives in such a manner. Admittedly, there was some gratification inhaving him demand her presence. As if she were…important to him.
I can’t possibly be.
Yet, she’d seen the way he’d looked at her when Sophia came apart in his arms, only she didn’t trust it.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The butler bowed, lips twitching.
“This isn’t the least amusing, Barstow.” Sophia stood. “Not at all.”
*
A half hourlater, Sophia stood before the door connecting her room with Roxboro’s. She’d thought to delay longer, but Ann had arrived only moments ago, whispering that His Grace was becoming quite annoyed and threatening to pound on her door until Sophia appeared.
She took a deep breath, preparing herself.
Sophia knew the time had come for her to confess she’d known the day they wed that it had not been Roxboro in the gardens. She could have halted the ceremony though Mama would have fainted and Papa furious. But Roxboro didn’t have a freckle. He didn’t drink wine. And the impossibility of there being…another man who so closely resembled him became real. She should have been honorable and fled the church. Accept her status as a pariah. Society meant little to her.
After much consideration, Sophia had decided that in the spirit of honesty, she would contact her father and have him use his influence in Parliament to have her union with Roxboro dissolved. The marriage had not been consummated. She was still a maid. Lord Damon would be ecstatic. Sophia would learn how to become a nun and tend bees.
