Lara Temple - The Duke's Unexpected Bride

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‘I met Lord Bryanston at Lady Jersey’s last night. He asked me who your latest flirt was. A young woman from Devon with a pair of delightfully smiling blue eyes, in his words,’ Hetty said blandly as she sifted through the pile of invitations Gaskell had brought in on a tray as they sat at the breakfast table.

‘Bryanston is an idiot,’ Max replied, not looking up from his newspaper.

‘True. But then there was Mrs Westminger. She asked me the identity of the animated young woman you were so attentive to in the Exhibition Rooms for close to an hour. Since she is Lady Penny’s godmama I presume it was by design that she said this very loudly next to Lady Melissa now that the betting appears to have swung in her favour. She was somewhat more careful about communicating the information you had been seen with the same young woman conversing with Lord Wivenhoe, of all people. That little titbit she passed along in a stage whisper to only three of her cronies in the dowagers’ corner.’

Max folded the newspaper and laid it down.

‘Is there a question in there?’

Hetty nodded, undaunted by his cool tone.

‘There is indeed. I presume they were referring to Lady Huntley’s niece? Is any of this true? Did you really take her to Somerset House? And introduce that young woman to the likes of Wivenhoe?’

Max held on to his temper by a thread, mostly angry at himself. At least Hetty did not know the full extent of Wivenhoe’s infamy. Thankfully his parents had never told his sisters the truth about Serena.

‘Yes, I took her. Because she was about to head there, on foot, on her own, in the company of that dratted pug. But do you really think I would introduce her to someone like Wivenhoe? That was her own doing. I turned my back for one minute and she wandered off into the private rooms where she proceeded to make mincemeat of Wivenhoe. Besides, this whole thing is your fault!’

‘Mine?’

‘Yes, you were the one who said she must be bored on her own in the mausoleum. I felt sorry for her. That’s why I offered to see her there safely. My mistake, but acquit me of either taking advantage of her or exposing her to someone like Wivenhoe!’

Hetty sighed.

‘No, I know you wouldn’t. But really, Max, it wasn’t very wise to take her there at all. Naturally people are curious when you are seen squiring an unchaperoned, unknown and personable young woman.’

‘I would think my credit is sufficient to make clear I have never shown an interest in toying with virtuous young women,’ he bit out.

‘Well, precisely, it is out of character, which is why it drew so much attention. Now that it is clear to everyone that you finally intend to marry you know the gossips are having a fine time speculating who will be the next Duchess of Harcourt. I can hardly step outside the house without someone coyly asking me who you are favouring. Fine, I won’t say another word. Just do be careful.’

‘That was four more words. And don’t worry; I’ve satisfied my chivalrous instinct for the next decade. I will stay well away from that troublesome pixie.’ He picked up the newspaper again, as much to block out his sister’s anxious frown as to prevent himself from venting his resentment on her. It was just typical that the moment he did anything that was one step out of character everyone was up in arms. All his life he had walk a fine line between his independence and his parents’ confining criticism, couched always in unarguable terms of duty, but to have to put up with it from Hetty as well when all he had done was take pity on that aggravatingly buoyant girl was putting a serious strain on his civility. Suddenly he wished Hetty and everyone at the devil.

Chapter Five

‘Lady Henrietta Swinburne, Miss Trevelyan.’

Lambeth’s voice was a blend of surprise, approval and curiosity. Lady Henrietta entered the parlour as he stood aside, approaching Sophie with a smile, her hand extended.

‘I do hope you don’t mind my showing up like this, Miss Trevelyan, but I had to come and thank you for that lovely sketch.’

Sophie stood up, still holding her paintbrush, and extended her hand automatically. Then they both glanced at her paint-covered fingers and to Sophie’s relief Lady Henrietta burst out laughing.

‘Never mind. May I stay for a moment? This is all very unusual; we haven’t even been introduced properly. I am Lady Henrietta Swinburne as your butler pointed out, but please call me Hetty,’ she announced, glancing around the room. ‘Goodness, I don’t think this place has been redecorated since Bonaparte was chased out of Egypt!’

Sophie relaxed at Hetty’s easy informality.

‘This is quite mild. There is a brocade sofa with gilded crocodile-claw legs in the Green Salon. Aunt Minnie never comes down here, but she insists that nothing is to be put under holland covers which means the colours have all sadly faded. Still, it is rather grand, isn’t it?’

‘Very grand. But then your aunt was very fashionable when we were children. What are you working on? May I see?’

Sophie turned with some embarrassment to the canvas she had been working on and nodded nervously as Hetty moved towards it.

‘Oh, he’s adorable!’ she exclaimed. ‘And you paint as well as you sketch!’

Watching the woman’s animated face, Sophie succumbed to impulse.

‘Do you know, Marmaduke’s portrait means I am fully equipped with artistic supplies and it would be a pity to waste all of this on a mere pug. Would you mind if I tried to paint you?’

‘Mind? I would be delighted! But I really don’t want to impose...’

‘Oh, I promise you it would be my pleasure. With all due respect to Marmaduke, he isn’t the most inspiring model. Please say yes. I really don’t have much else to do while I am here...’ She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to sound self-pitying. I really would like to paint you, if you don’t mind.’

‘I would love it. When?’

‘The light is perfect right now, if you sit in that seat by the window...’

Hetty smiled and moved toward the window.

‘So be it. On condition you tell me how you like being in town.’

Sophie hurriedly picked up her sketch pad, wondering what on earth she could say. She could hardly reveal that her most memorable experience in London involved this woman’s brother. Not that her fascination with him was surprising. He was so very different from any of the men she knew back home. In fact, she rather thought he was unlike most men in London, too. She would hardly be the first or the last to be so drawn to him. His virility and unconscious air of command were bad enough, but much worse was the guarded humour in his dark grey eyes, and the fact that unlike so many people he actually appeared to sometimes find her peculiarities vaguely interesting rather than merely regrettable. That was perhaps the greatest danger of all.

Somehow, no matter how stony the façade he presented, he radiated an underlying curiosity that she felt was an unconscious invitation to be herself, an invitation she so rarely encountered it was bound to be intoxicating. It was probably completely fictitious, but it was so tempting to believe in it. She looked down at the blank paper in her hands and resolutely began sketching.

‘There’s not much to tell. I haven’t seen much, aside from gardens outside and the exhibition yesterday. Still, I am revelling in being on my own. There are nine of us at home and very little privacy and quite a lot of...meddling, you see. So, forced solitude has its advantages. Could you please raise your chin a little?’

Hetty complied.

‘Nine! I can see why this might be considered a holiday. Still, it is a pity your aunt hasn’t provided you with any entertainment at all.’