Читать книгу Bachelor Duke - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 7

Sophie woke up the next morning, wondering where she was. It was much more sumptuous than her room in Naples. She sat up and looked about her. The sun was shining through lightweight curtains and she could make out solid furniture; besides the big bed there was a washstand, a wardrobe, a dressing table, another small table in the window flanked by two chairs and a couple of cupboards in the fireplace recess. A clock on the mantel told her it was half past ten. She had not slept so late in years! She scrambled from the bed, padded across the thick carpet and drew back the curtains to find herself looking out on a busy street. Not Naples, not Paris, but London.

It all came back to her then: the long, exhausting journey by land and sea, the slow progress behind the Regent’s procession, which they had come up with only an hour after leaving Dover. The Regent was either very vain or very stubborn because he had insisted on stopping to greet his people, even when they were only a half a dozen on a street corner who looked to Sophie as if they had only been waiting to cross the road. Whenever they stopped the tall equerry was in evidence, shepherding people away from the royal carriages, looking about for trouble, trying his best to keep the cavalcade moving. Sophie wondered what his name was and if he had a title and decided he must be a lord at the very least. In her imagination she dubbed him Lord Ubiquitous because he seemed to be everywhere. No doubt if anything bad befell his charges, he would have to answer for it.

He had controlled his horse with consummate skill, was polite if a little frosty to the people around him and smiled when speaking to the Regent and his guest. Not for a moment had he shown any sign of impatience, but somehow Sophie sensed it was there, carefully hidden. It revealed itself in the way he carried himself, in small gestures, in the lifted eyebrows to Captain Summers when his Highness insisted on stopping. On one occasion the Regent had beckoned to a little urchin playing in the dirt and given him some small token, though the child seemed to have no idea what to do with it. Lord Ubiquitous had leaned down from his mount and whispered something, which made the boy laugh and he had run off, clutching his prize.

There had been no possibility of overtaking the royal carriages, so Lord Myers had instructed the coachman, hired at Dover, to stay well back, and Sophie was able to look about her. The countryside was verdant, the sun had a gentle warmth, not the uncomfortable heat of Naples. There were people working in the fields, plodding behind working horses. In the meadows cattle grazed and young lambs trotted behind their mothers, bleating for attention. This was the England she remembered, the England her mother had yearned for all the years of her exile. Was that why it felt so much like coming home?

London, when they reached it, was packed, just as Paris had been. Rich and poor jostled each other, carriages vied for space with carts, and the noise of it all assailed her ears: grinding wheels, ringing hooves, neighing horses and voices, some high-pitched, some raucous. When the crowd saw who sat in the grand carriages smiling and waving fat beringed hands at them, they were openly hostile. Sophie heard one wag shout, ‘Where’s your wife?’ And this was echoed by others until it became a chorus.

‘What do they mean?’ she asked Lord Myers.

‘Oh, they are referring to the Princess of Wales,’ he said. ‘She is far more popular than her husband, who tries very hard to pretend she does not exist. The people like to remind him of her now and again.’

Their ways diverged after they crossed the river and the Myers’s coach went on to Holles Street, where the servants had been expecting them hours before. It was extremely late, the dinner spoiled and they had to make do with a cold collation before tumbling into their beds.

And now it was morning, the first day of her new life and whatever was in store for her, she would have to make the best of it. Until she had made her call on the Duke, she could make no plans, and meeting the Duke was something that filled her with trepidation. She dressed hurriedly and went down to the breakfast parlour where she found Lady Myers immersed in the morning paper, which reported the arrival of the French King and a great deal of other news, some of it political, some of it mere gossip. She laid it aside on Sophie’s entrance. ‘How did you sleep, dear?’ she asked.

‘Like the dead,’ Sophie said. ‘I was worn out.’

‘That is hardly to be wondered at. Shall we stay at home and rest today? Tomorrow will be time enough for paying calls if you are too fatigued.’

Sophie was very tempted. It would be so easy to presume upon her ladyship’s generosity and do nothing, but her circumstances and sense of fair play would not allow it. ‘Unless you have other plans, I think I should make my call at Belfont House first,’ she said. ‘It has been playing on my mind. If the Duke is from home, I can ascertain if he is at Dersingham Park.’

‘Do you not think you should purchase a new gown before presenting yourself?’ her ladyship suggested.

Sophie looked down at the lilac muslin she had fetched out of her trunk. It was so simple as to be childlike, with its mauve ribbons under the bosom and round the puffed sleeves. Its only decoration was a little ruching round the hem, which had been mended more than once. ‘You think I should be in mourning?’

‘Do you?’ Lady Myers countered.

‘No. I mourned Mama and I mourned the man my father once was, but that was three years ago and, strangely enough, Papa’s last words to me were, “Do not mourn me, I am unworthy of it.”’

‘Then lilac is perfectly fitting, except that gown is very simple.’

‘Simple things do not become outdated so quickly and I cannot afford to buy something just because the fashion changes.’

‘Hmm, no doubt you are right,’ her ladyship said. It was sympathy and help the girl needed and strutting about in the height of fashion would not further that end, though she was wise enough not to utter her thoughts. ‘I will order the carriage for noon.’

Sophie was shaking with nerves by the time the barouche drew up outside the house in South Audley Street and only Lady Myers’s hand under her elbow prevented her from taking flight. She was being a ninny, she told herself sternly. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was her mother’s daughter and Mama had always told her to be proud, hold up her head and look the world in the eye, and that is what she would do. If the Duke of Belfont refused to recognise her, then so be it.

‘Lady Myers and Miss Sophia Langford,’ her ladyship said, handing the liveried footman her card. ‘We wish to speak to the Duke on a personal matter.’

‘I will ascertain if his Grace is receiving, my lady,’ he said pompously. ‘Please be seated.’ He waved them to a row of chairs ranged against the wall of the vestibule and disappeared down a marble tiled hall, his back stiff, his white-wigged head held high.

Lady Myers sat down, but Sophie could not sit still and began looking about her. There was an ornate cantilever staircase that set off at the centre of the hall and divided on a half-landing before climbing again to a gallery lined with pictures. On each side of the stairs the hall was lined with doors, all of which were closed. The footman had gone through one of them and shut it behind him.

‘Oh, I wish I had never come,’ Sophie whispered. The grandeur of the place was overwhelming.

‘Take heart, dear. I am right beside you and I will make the introductions.’

The footman returned, leaving the door ajar. ‘This way, ladies, if you please.’

They followed him and waited while he announced them. ‘Your Grace, Lady Myers and Miss Langford.’ Then he stood aside for them to enter the room.

A second later Sophie found her jaw dropping open because the man she faced was not the sixty-year-old duke she had expected, but the handsome equerry she had dubbed Lord Ubiquitous, elegant in dark green superfine coat and cream pantaloons, his fair curls brushed into attractive disorder. And he was looking just as astonished as she was.

‘Good God!’ he murmured loud enough for her to hear.

Before she could open her mouth to retort, Lady Myers spoke. ‘Your Grace?’ It was a question, not a greeting.

He recovered himself quickly and bowed. ‘At your service, my lady.’

Her ladyship curtsied. ‘Your Grace, may I present Miss Sophia Langford? You have been expecting her, I think.’ She gave Sophie a prod with her elbow because the girl seemed to have forgotten the basic courtesies.

Sophie, jolted from her contemplation of the man who had occupied so much of her thinking in the last twenty-four hours, dropped a curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’

James, who had expected a child, a schoolgirl at the most, found himself looking at a grown woman, a woman he had seen before, though for the life of him he could not remember where or when. It was hardly surprising; she was not particularly memorable. Her lilac dress was so plain, it could have been worn by one of his chambermaids and not been considered too grand. She had a hideous bonnet that hid most of her face and almost all her hair, but her figure was good. ‘I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage,’ he said.

‘How so?’ Sophie asked. ‘Did you not receive my letter?’ If he had not, then she would have to explain who she was and why she was standing in this magnificent drawing room and wishing herself anywhere but there. He was not welcoming and certainly not smiling.

‘I received a letter from Italy, yes, but I had not expected its writer to turn up on my doorstep the very next day.’

‘You may blame me for that, your Grace,’ Lady Myers said. ‘Lord Myers and I were returning to England; as poor Sophie had no one else to escort her, I undertook to bring her to you. I am afraid it was not possible to wait for your reply.’

That was where he had seen them, in Dover, trying to enter the hotel where the Regent and the King of France were taking refreshment and he had noticed them later, following the procession. Being anxious about security, he had been concerned they might be jeopardising that and had kept an eye on the carriage, until it had turned off north of the river. He had laughed at himself for his suspicions.

‘And now you are here,’ he said, wishing Harriet were on hand to relieve him, ‘what do you expect me to do?’

‘Nothing, your Grace,’ Sophie snapped. ‘I was mistaken in coming here…’

Again that defiance; it was almost a defensiveness, as if she expected to be turned away as she had been from the hotel in Dover. And so she should be, turning up at his door as if he should take in every waif and stray who claimed kinship! It was all very well for Harriet to say his father’s niece had married a Langford, but he had never met this cousin and there might have been a very good reason for the family not to acknowledge her. His uncle could have been a reprehensible reprobate who had disgraced the family name; his daughter might have been a demi-rep of uncertain reputation and her husband an unmitigated rogue, which was more than likely if they had to live abroad. Until he knew the truth he could not risk taking her daughter in. ‘If you expected me to fall over myself to offer you a home, then I am sorry to disappoint you…’

‘My disappointment is not on that account,’ Sophie said. ‘It was in thinking that I was dealing with a gentleman.’ She had no idea what made her say that. Perhaps it was the dismay which had been evident on his handsome countenance when they arrived, or the lack of a welcome. Why, he had not even offered them refreshment!

He had never met anyone, certainly not a chit of a girl, who was prepared to answer him back in that fashion and for a moment he was taken aback, and then it amused him. Beneath that muslin-covered bosom there beat a heart of fire. She was beginning to intrigue him. ‘Be thankful that I am gentleman enough not to entertain such a ridiculous idea…’

Lady Myers put her hand on Sophie’s arm to stop her answering. ‘Your Grace,’ she said placatingly, ‘we had no idea… We assumed… Sophie thought…’

‘What did Miss Langford think?’

‘That you were old,’ Sophie burst out.

‘Old!’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I am but four and thirty.’

‘I can see that,’ she countered. ‘But Mama told me that the third Duke had died and his younger brother had inherited and so I assumed…’ Her voice faded away to nothing.

‘It is a mistake to assume anything,’ he said, remembering how he had assumed she was a child. If he had stopped to think, he would have realised it was unlikely. His uncle, her grandfather, had been the second eldest of the third Duke’s brothers and would have inherited if he had not died first. It would have made all the difference to the young woman who faced him now; her mother would have been a duke’s daughter and she would not be sitting there in that hideous gown, appealing to his softer nature. Perhaps it was as well he had, over the years, managed to stifle that. ‘The brother you mentioned was my father, the fourth Duke. He died last year and I came into my inheritance.’

‘And does that make a difference? Would he have been more welcoming?’

He suddenly realised how vulnerable she was, that she had the most lustrous eyes and they were bright with unshed tears. His conscience stabbed him. His problems were not the fault of Miss Langford and he could not expect her to understand them. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘We have not made a good beginning, have we? Let us start again. Please be seated. I will have refreshments brought in. Tea, perhaps, or ratafia? ‘He turned and tugged at the bell pull by the mantel. The footman arrived almost immediately and, on the ladies saying they would prefer tea, was instructed to bring the tea tray and some cakes. ‘If I had known you were coming today,’ he said, after the man had gone to obey, ‘I would have asked my sister, Lady Harley, to be present to act as hostess.’

‘You have no wife?’ Lady Myers had availed herself of one of the sofas, a pale green brocaded affair, and Sophie perched herself beside her, every sense alert, wanting to run, but conversely determined not to be driven away, simply because the man had taken a dislike to her. Why he should, she did not know. He was not completely unfeeling; she had seen evidence of his kindness on the way from Dover, but that was to other people, not herself.

‘No, I am single,’ he said, smiling at Sophie to try to mitigate his earlier brusqueness. It wasn’t like him to be impolite, but this pair had taken him so much by surprise, and, at a time when he had so much on his mind, he had been less than welcoming. Not that he meant to alter his decision, but he could have put it more kindly.

‘Oh, I see,’ Lady Myers said. ‘Then as you are a bachelor, we understand that taking in a young unmarried lady would be out of the question.’ She paused, unwilling to abandon her quest. ‘But you mentioned your sister. Does she reside here?’

‘No, her home is in Suffolk, but when she is in town for the Season, she stays here. She undertook to reply to your letter on my behalf, but of course that is of no significance now.’

‘And what would her reply have been?’ Sophie asked. ‘Would she have repudiated me on the grounds that the family did not approve of my parents’ marriage and, because I have been brought up abroad, I am not fit to be seen in society?’

‘Has someone said that?’

‘The present Lord Langford,’ Lady Myers said. ‘Miss Langford’s uncle.’

‘Oh.’ He had been going to suggest she appeal to her father’s family, but it seemed she had already done that and been turned away. He found himself thinking, ‘Poor child!’ and then smiled at his foolishness. She was not a child and he suspected had not been one for a long time. He had no idea how old she was, but she had a maturity that had nothing to do with years.

‘Miss Langford may count on me, of course,’ Lady Myers went on. ‘But how long Lord Myers will remain in London, I do not know. He travels a great deal and I always accompany him…’

‘I see.’ He did see, very clearly. Lady Myers’s offer was made out of duty, out of the charity Miss Langford so much denigrated, and she would be glad to have someone take the girl off her hands. And Miss Langford was intelligent enough to realise that.

‘Lady Myers,’ Sophie implored her, ‘please do not go on. I am not incapable of earning a living and would rather do so than be the object of charity, especially charity so reluctantly given.’

‘Earn a living,’ he repeated, ignoring her accusation. ‘How?’

‘I have an education, I can teach—I have done it before. I could offer myself to a girls’ school or find a position as a governess or companion.’

‘And what will you teach?’ He did not know why he was quizzing her in this way—to see how resolute she was? Or simply to tease? There was a faint blush to her cheeks that could have been embarrassment, or anger—he suspected the latter.

‘Whatever is asked of me,’ she said. ‘The basics of reading and writing, literature, languages. I speak French well, German a little and Italian fluently—’

‘Good heavens, a blue stocking!’

‘That, sir, is better than being a milksop, dependent on the generosity or otherwise of a man who can give it or withhold it at his pleasure.’

He had a sudden vision of what it might be like to be a young lady alone in the world. She must either work or beg, scrimp to eat and to buy the clothes for her back, unable to go into society, unable to enjoy the sort of social occasions most young ladies of his acquaintance took for granted, unable to marry well. He was used to the ladies of the ton, aristocrats who peopled the Regent’s court, simpering helpless females who did nothing without the permission of fathers, husbands or guardians, or demi-reps who flouted convention and were therefore not received in respectable drawing rooms. But the woman who faced him now was neither. He wished he had not been so sharp with her, but he did not know how to retrieve the situation.

The footman reappeared with the tea tray. ‘Lady Harley has just returned, your Grace,’ he said, as he set it down. ‘She asked me to say that as soon as she has taken off her hat, she will join you.’

‘Thank you, Collins.’

The footman began pouring the tea into thin china cups and, while he did so, Sophie was able to look about her for the first time. The room was dominantly pale green and cream, light and restful to the eye and furnished in the French style; it seemed the war with France did not inhibit people from wanting beautiful things no matter where they came from. There was no fire, but the hearth contained a huge bowl of cream roses whose scent filled the room. A Turner hung over the mantelpiece and a cabinet displayed porcelain figurines, which she recognised as Italian and very valuable. The windows were deep and long and looked out into a narrow garden with clipped lawns and beds of those same cream roses; a blackbird flew down to worry a pair of thrushes, squawking its annoyance until they left what he considered his domain. She wished she was out there, walking in the fresh air and not sitting on this elegant sofa being watched by the master of the house, who stood facing them with his back to the fireplace, a picture of studied elegance.

She risked a glance at him, but his expression was bland. He would be difficult to get to know, she decided, a self-contained man who did not let his feelings show. Was that because he belonged to the English aristocracy or was there a deeper reason? As Lord Ubiquitous who could make a small child laugh, she had been drawn towards him; as the Duke of Belfont, she found him top lofty and unsympathetic. It was almost as if he were two people. But wasn’t everyone like that? Did she not have two sides to her? The sad, lost child, in spite of her twenty-one years, and the independent, prickly woman of the world vied with each other according to the situation in which she found herself.

She looked up as a newcomer entered who could only have been Lady Harriet Harley. Dressed becomingly in amber silk, she was slightly older than the Duke; her features, though like her brother’s, were softer, more rounded, and her eyes were not the steely blue of his, but a soft aquamarine. Her hair was a shade darker and piled up on her head and fastened with two jewelled combs. She came forward, smiling.

‘Harriet, may I present Lady Myers and Miss Langford,’ James said, vastly relieved to see her. ‘Ladies, my sister, Lady Harley.’

Sophie rose along with Lady Myers to greet the newcomer, but before she could curtsy, she found both her hands grasped and Lady Harley holding her at arm’s length to look at her. ‘Oh, my dear, how pleased I am to make your acquaintance. If I had known you were arriving today, I would have been at home to greet you. But never mind, I am here now and you shall tell me all about yourself. I see Collins has brought in the tea.’ She turned to the footman who was standing by the tea urn, a cup in his hand. ‘You can leave that, Collins, I will see to it.’ Then to Sophie, ‘Come and sit by me and we shall get to know each other.’ She drew the girl to another of the three sofas that furnished the room, leaving Lady Myers to sink back into her original seat opposite them. ‘When did you arrive in London? Where are you staying?’ She stopped suddenly and looked up at her brother. ‘Oh, do sit down, James, you look so forbidding hovering there.’

He folded his long form into a winged back chair on the other side of the hearth and waited. Harriet could take over now; he need say no more, which was a great relief. He was a man of the world, used to dealing with all sorts of people and situations, known to be cool in a crisis, not easily shaken, but this child-woman had set him at a stand. He had no idea what to do with her.

‘Lady Myers, you will forgive me, I know,’ Harriet said. ‘But I want to hear all about Sophia from her own lips.’ To Sophie she added, ‘You do not mind me calling you Sophia, do you?’

‘Mama and Papa called me Sophie,’ she said with a smile, which made James, watching her, realise she was not plain after all, nor overweening, simply shy. No, definitely not shy, he corrected himself, reserved perhaps, a private sort of person and proud with it. ‘I was Sophia only when they were displeased with me.’

‘And we are certainly not displeased with you, are we?’ She appealed to her brother, who nodded agreement, his mouth twitching slightly. ‘So Sophie it shall be.’ She rose and busied herself with the teacups and handing round a plate of little cakes before resuming her seat. ‘Now, my dear, do begin. Tell us first about your mama and papa. You see, we never knew them. I remember Papa had an older brother called Robert. That would be your grandfather, would it not?’

‘I believe so. But I can tell you very little about him. I believe he disapproved of Papa and so Mama did not correspond with him.’

‘Oh, how sad it is when families fall out,’ Harriet said. ‘It leads to so much conflict and it is not right to visit that on the next generation.’

‘Just what I hoped you would say,’ Lady Myers put in suddenly. ‘It wasn’t Sophie’s fault. Lord Langford was a—’

‘Lady Myers, please,’ Sophie begged her, hating to hear anyone condemn her father, however justified that might be. She had loved him once and her mother had never ceased to be held in thrall by him even when their fortunes were at their lowest.

‘Very well, I will say no more. Lady Harley may draw her own conclusions. I have told his Grace and will not repeat it.’

Harriet looked at her brother, who shrugged his elegant shoulders and smiled. ‘It seems Miss Langford had already appealed to the present Lord Langford and been rejected.’

‘Oh, how mortifying. Sophie, why did you not come to us first? My goodness, how anyone could turn away a relation in need is beyond me. Never mind, you are here now and we will do our best to help you.’

Sophie looked from one to the other, wondering why one should have been so dismissive and the other so welcoming. Even now, his Grace was frowning as if he were afraid his sister might offer something he could not agree to, although Harriet seemed unaware of it. ‘I only need somewhere to lodge until I can find my feet,’ she said. ‘I can and will earn my keep.’

‘Miss Langford has expressed the intention of becoming a companion or a governess,’ James told his sister.

Harriet turned to Sophie; there was a smile and a hint of friendly teasing in her eyes, which made Sophie warm to her. ‘Is that really what you wish to do, or was it said in a spirit of independence?’

Sophie found herself smiling back in spite of her discomfort. ‘Independence, I think, but that doesn’t mean I was not serious.’

‘No, of course not. I admire you for it.’

‘What I really want to do is write a book,’ she said.

‘A novel?’

‘No. The story of our travels on the continent, the places we went to and the people we met. You see, Mama instructed me, showed me how to look at buildings and monuments with a fresh eye, how to observe characters, and she encouraged me to write about them.’

‘How very clever of you!’

‘Mama was the clever one.’ She did not add that her mother’s cleverness irritated her father. Sometimes when he was disguised in drink he would call her a blue stocking—it was not meant as praise, but in the same derogatory way the Duke had meant it. Mama had told her that men did not like clever women, because it diminished them and shattered their illusions that women were not only physically inferior but mentally too. It was best not to flaunt one’s cleverness; though Sophie did not hold with boasting, she did not see why she should hide what talents she had. After all, she was not beautiful; no one would fall at her feet on that account. ‘But until it is written and I have interested a publisher in it, I must live and being a companion will serve…’

‘I doubt that,’ James put in. ‘I believe ladies’ companions are on call twenty-four hours a day—you will have no time to yourself.’

‘Then I will make time.’

‘That is very commendable,’ Harriet said. ‘But we will not talk of companions or governesses. There is no need.’

‘Miss Langford is lodging with Lady Myers,’ James told his sister in a warning voice, which she ignored.

‘It is very good of Lady Myers,’ Harriet said, smiling at the lady to mitigate what she was about to say. ‘But what would everyone think of us if we were to allow Sophie to lodge anywhere but with us…?’

‘Harriet,’ he warned her, ‘you know my feelings on the matter.’

She laughed. ‘Indeed I do. You are as sensible of your duty as any man I know and I am persuaded you are determined to take Sophie into the bosom of the family and do your very best to make her happy. To do anything else would be quite scandalous…’

Sophie was well aware, as was everyone else, that Lady Harley had manoeuvred him into a corner. Though she longed to tell them she would not stay if she were not welcome, she also knew that living permanently with Lady Myers was also out of the question; the lady herself had made that clear. She waited, unspeaking, pinning her hopes on Lady Harley.

‘Of course,’ he said, giving his sister a grin that told her she had won. ‘But you must make yourself responsible for her.’

‘Oh, I shall. I am quite looking forward to taking our cousin out and about.’ She turned to Sophie. ‘Take no notice of his gruffness. What with all the fuss over King Louis’s visit and more state visits to come later in the year, he has a great deal on his mind at the moment. But we can manage quite well without him.’

‘Thank you, my lady, I am grateful, but there is no need to take me out and about. I shall be quite content to have a room and board until I can earn enough to repay you.’

‘Repay us! What nonsense. You are kin and it is our privilege to give you a home for as long as you want it. Now, off you go with Lady Myers and fetch your belongings. By the time you return, your room will be ready.’

Sophie heard the Duke give a low groan. He had been bested and she was not sure whether to feel satisfaction or mortification, but beggars could not be choosers, she told herself. He had come to his feet and she rose too and faced him. ‘I do not expect to be given a come-out, your Grace. I am determined never to marry. I accept your offer of a home only because I have no choice, but rest assured I shall be as little trouble to you as possible.’ She turned to Lady Harley. ‘My lady, I am grateful for your intervention and with your permission will return tomorrow, if you tell me a time that will be convenient.’

‘Any time will do. I have no pressing engagements.’

‘Then I shall bring Sophie at three,’ Lady Myers said. ‘Good day, Lady Harley. Good day, your Grace. Come, Sophie.’

Sophie curtsied and followed Lady Myers to the door. An imp of mischief made her turn as she reached it. ‘My lord, what was it the Regent gave the little boy yesterday?’

‘Little boy?’ he queried, then smiled as he remembered. ‘A silver button from his waistcoat. His Highness’s coats are so tight the buttons are always popping off.’

‘The child seemed bemused. What did you say to him?’

‘I told him it was real silver and he should sell it and buy his family a good dinner before someone stole it from him. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, I rather envied the little one that he had managed to elicit a kind word from you.’ And with that, she sailed out on the heels of Lady Myers.

His initial annoyance gave way to a wry grin as he turned and saw his sister laughing.

‘You deserved that,’ she said.

‘No doubt I did. But I wonder if you know what you have taken on. It will not be easy. She is too proud and outspoken for her own good.’

‘Of course I know, but that is due to her strange upbringing. She is a delightful girl and when I have done something about her clothes and shown her how to go on, she will take beautifully, you’ll see.’

‘Perhaps. She certainly needs someone to look to her wardrobe. Why, that yellow gown Lady Myers was wearing would have suited her better than that colourless lilac. I had begun to wonder if they had exchanged wardrobes or perhaps their maid was half-cut and confused the two.’

Harriet smiled. ‘James it is not kind to make fun of her. She was in desperate straits…’

‘She could have stayed with Lady Myers.’

‘And been an unpaid companion because that is what she would have become and, although the woman did say she would bring her out, I doubt she would have made a very good fist at it. And think how badly that would reflect on us.’

‘I know, which is why I agreed, but I warn you if she does or says anything to embarrass us or our friends, she will be packed off to Dersingham Park and I do not care what social occasions you have planned for her. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know why you are so gloomy about it.’

He did not know either, he admitted to himself, as he left her to meet Richard Summers at White’s. How could a slip of a girl make him feel so old, so weighed down with cares? She meant nothing to him and he would not need to see anything of her; Harriet would look after her. It must be a family trait, this stubbornness, he decided, for his sister had taken the girl’s future on herself, dismissing his misgivings with a wave of the hand as if they were no more important than dandelion seed. She was right of course, he could not have turned the chit away without bringing down the censure of the haut monde, but, having done his duty, he could forget her.

Richard was sitting in the library of the club reading a newspaper, a glass of cognac at his side. He looked up as James flung himself into a chair opposite him. ‘You look as though you need a drink.’ He reached for the bottle and filled the empty glass beside it. ‘Ellen playing up again, is she?’

‘Ellen?’ His mind had been so much on Sophie he had forgotten his erstwhile mistress, who seemed unable to understand their affair was at an end. She had done her best to embarrass him in public, hoping to wriggle back in his favour, but he had never shared his mistresses with anyone, except their husbands, naturally, and he did not propose to make an exception now, especially as the man she had been seeing was Alfred Jessop, his cousin and heir. ‘No, nothing to do with her.’

‘Then what has given you that air of distraction? It can’t be his Highness, can it? You usually take his whims and tantrums into your stride…’

James gave a grunt. ‘He is behaving as if he had won the war single-handed and accepting the adulation of his subjects as his due. I cannot make up my mind if he is deluding himself or trying to persuade those around him that he is not the most unpopular ruling prince the country ever had. It makes my job doubly difficult.’ He drank his brandy in one swallow, holding out his glass for a refill. ‘Yesterday was a case in point. Why was it necessary to go to Dover to meet Louis and, when he did, to keep stopping and making a fool of himself and laying himself open to an assassin?’

‘Nothing happened, did it? No one took a shot at him, no one attempted to pull him out of the coach and tear him to shreds. The abuse is only verbal and he seems to be able to ignore that.’

‘He can, but I can’t. Not that Louis is any better. We had no sooner delivered him to Grillon’s, than he sent for a chair and insisted on sitting in the vestibule holding court like some fat potentate. Good God, it’s a hotel where anyone can come and go. His Highness was with him some of the time and they were sitting targets. It is making me very on edge and I find myself suspecting everyone…’

‘Even two dumpy travellers and a mousy companion in that hired coach, which followed us all the way to London. But perhaps you were right; they could have been in disguise.’

‘Those! That was no disguise. It was Lord Myers, one-time ambassador to somewhere or other, his lady wife and Miss Sophia Langford, or Sophie as she prefers to be known.’

‘You are acquainted with them?’

‘Until today I was not. Miss Langford is a cousin of mine, though I don’t know how many times removed, but the number of removes seems not to weigh with her. She has turned up from Italy, having just buried her father, and expects me to welcome her with open arms…’

‘And her mother?’

‘Died some time ago. She was my Uncle Robert’s granddaughter.’

‘Then the relationship is not so distant. It is not like you to be uncharitable, James.’

‘Oh, I have taken her in—had no choice since Harriet has taken a liking to the girl, and I felt sorry for her. Not that she invited sympathy; she has the Dersingham pride and obstinacy, no doubt of that. Said if I didn’t take her in, she would become a governess. Couldn’t let that happen, could I?’

‘No, you could not. So, what is the problem? Lady Harley will do the necessary.’

‘I have no doubt Harriet will expect me to give her a come-out and that means escorting her to whatever occasions my sister deems necessary.’

‘And from what I remember when I met her at Dover, she is too plain for you. You were always known for having the most beautiful women on your arm.’

‘Her plainness or otherwise has nothing to do with it. Nor will she be “on my arm”, as you put it; I shall be her sponsor only. It is simply that I do not know how I will find the time. His Highness expects me to be everywhere at once. Goodness knows what he will think of doing when the Tsar and the King of Prussia pay a state visit later in the year. London will be crawling with foreign royalty and all of it expecting protection, not to mention the return of Wellington, which will be a far more popular event. It will need a whole regiment and more to keep order and since I no longer have a command, I will have to liaise with the military and give way to them on the grounds that I am a mere equerry.’

‘You are far more than that and everyone who matters knows it. Why, if it hadn’t been for you, Boney might never have found himself with no choice but to abdicate.’

James had once been a soldier, and a very good one, but Wellington had soon realised his potential as a spy and he had found himself out of the army and wandering about Europe under a false name, pretending to have a grudge against his own people in order to gather intelligence. It had been dangerous and secret work. It was still a secret except from those who had worked with him at the time and that included Richard, who had been his contact with their commander. When his father died and he had been recalled to become the next Duke of Belfont, he had thought to see an end of it, except that the Regent, on being told of his exploits, insisted on having him in his entourage.

‘And if you think that is the end of the man, you are mistaken, Dick, my friend,’ he said grimly. ‘He will not take his defeat as final. I have already heard rumours…’

‘Oh, that old chant, “I will be back.” Wishful thinking.’

‘We shall see and before another year is out.’

‘Twenty guineas says he stays comfortably on Elba writing his memoirs.’

‘Done.’ James beckoned to one of the waiters to fetch the book of wagers, and, when it was brought, carefully wrote in it, ‘The Duke of Belfont bets Captain Richard Summers the sum of twenty guineas that Napoleon Bonaparte will leave Elba and attempt to regain his throne before a year is out.’ They both signed and dated it.

‘That will put the cat among the pigeons,’ James said. ‘It might even bring the worms out of the woodwork.’

‘Oh, I see, you engineered the wager. I might have known. You are not one to make foolish wagers. But watch your back, my friend.’

‘Oh, I leave that to you, I shall be far too busy.’

Richard grinned. ‘Taking a young lady out and about, I collect.’

‘It is my duty as head of the family,’ he said, so pompously that Richard, who knew him well, laughed.

‘You never know, you might end up leg shackled yourself and it won’t be before time. You should have set up your nursery ten years ago.’

‘How could I? I was in no position to offer for anyone, and, since returning to England, I have met no one with whom I would want to spend the rest of my life.’

‘You will.’ Richard paused, then, deciding he had teased his friend enough, added, ‘Are you dining here tonight?’

‘No, I am expected at Carlton House, some banquet or other. I will be glad when the season is over and I can retire to Dersingham Park and look after my estate. In the meantime, duty calls. Keep your eyes and ears open, Richard. Contrary to the Regent’s belief, I cannot be everywhere at once.’

The two men parted and James strolled back to Belfont House, but strangely it was not his problems at court that occupied his mind, but a pair of lustrous brown eyes. How could anyone be described as plain who had eyes like that?