Chapter Nineteen
Devlin watched Sophie’s face in fascination as she stared intently at the stage, totally entranced by the performance below. The animation lighting up her features and the clear delight she took in watching the rendition of Don Giovanni was deeply satisfying, filling a place inside him that he had not known was empty. He’d never seen anyone so expressive of their enjoyment in watching the opera.
The other ladies he had brought with him in the past always seemed to have an expression of ennui carefully plastered over their features. But not Sophie. No, she seemed completely captivated by the performance below.
The music reached its crescendo, and the crowd burst into applause. Sophie jumped up and vigorously started clapping, too, and he followed suit.
“That was simply delightful,” she enthused, her earlier annoyance at him plainly forgotten in light of the performance.
“I have never enjoyed myself more,” he replied in complete honesty.
“Watching the story of a notorious Lothario getting dragged to Hell by demons due to his wicked ways? Who would have thought?” She fairly sparkled with mischief. He was about to respond in kind when Lady Winthrup leaned forward from the seat behind them.
“Yes, yes, it was a good production,” the older woman interjected. “Though I would have preferred it to have been sung in English rather than Italian. We are in England, after all.”
“But Aunt,” Sophie began, “that is part of its beauty and very essence. The rhythm of the Italian language is what gives the entire performance that hint of romance and mystery.”
“Yes, well, listening to Italian for hours has my mind in a muddle,” Mabel said.
The footmen turned up the wall sconces, shedding more light on the small space.
“I could have watched for hours more.” Sophie laughed. “And what of you, Huntington? Did you think it was too long?”
“Actually, like you, I would have been content to watch for a great deal longer,” he replied in all sincerity.
She regarded him with skepticism—and her earlier sense of mischief. “But I thought you did not particularly enjoy the opera? A bit uncomfortable, perhaps?”
“Ah taci, inguisto core,” he murmured good-naturedly—ah, be quiet, unjust heart—the name of a trio in the opera’s first act. Of course, previously, he never had, but tonight was different. “I find that my enjoyment of the opera has changed considerably, at least whilst in your company.” A delightful wave of pink spread across her cheeks. “Come, let us all go and get some refreshments downstairs. After you, Lady Winthrup.”
Devlin motioned for Mabel to go ahead as he took hold of Sophie’s elbow and led her to the entryway of his box. Finding himself wanting to confound her as much as she did him, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You look enchanting when you blush.”
“Devlin Markham,” Sophie whispered, lightly smacking her fan against his arm. “You do not need to woo me. I have already agreed to your proposal.”
Guiding her down the corridor toward the stairway, he responded, “Must you continually be so cynical when I pay you a compliment?”
“Need I remind you, you are very well practiced in the art of compliments?”
A chuckle escaped him as he led her down the stairs and into the saloon were drinks and canapés were being served. “That I cannot deny,” he remarked. “However, with you, I am always honest.”
They came to a halt inside the room. “So you say.”
He scowled. “Must you forever question my honor?”
“It is not your honor I question, but rather your glib tongue.”
“Oh, there is that dratted man,” Mabel interrupted as she pointed down the end of the far corridor toward the Earl of Abelard. “I think I should go and give him a piece of my mind for standing you up.”
Sophie caught sight of Abelard disappearing down the corridor. “Aunt Mabel, you would not wish to cause a scene, would you?”
Mabel pursed her lips to one side. “Oh, I do suppose not, though he does deserve a dressing down.” She sighed. “I see the powder room down the corridor. I think I had best go and freshen up as I feel a trifle flushed. If you will both excuse me?”
“If you feel unwell, I shall accompany you,” Sophie replied.
“No,” Mabel answered, patting her on the hand. “I am quite well. I just need a moment of peace and to calm my temper. Stay and converse with the Duke.” She turned to the right and proceeded to walk down the hallway.
From the determined glint in her eye, Devlin suspected the old girl was going to hunt down the earl rather than the powder room. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for Abelard, but the feeling was very fleeting.
“Come,” Devlin said to Sophie as he took her hand in his and began guiding her further into the room. “Let us obtain some refreshments.”
They had navigated halfway toward the refreshments table when, from behind, Devlin heard a female voice enunciate his name.
He took in a deep breath and slowly spun around. There, his aunt Cornelia, the Dowager Marchioness of Brampton, stood, staring at him in utter disdain. He had not seen her in nearly two years, but she still looked the same, garbed in black mourning clothes, as she had been for the past two decades since his uncle’s death. And as usual, her shoulders and back were ramrod straight, her head high as she locked her disapproving eyes on him.
Her once classical features had hardened into haughty lines of censure, and though she still maintained a trim figure, there was no disguising the rigid bitterness permeating her very core. He had rather hoped to avoid seeing the prig for at least some time, but that was not to be.
“Lady Brampton,” he acknowledged with a nod. He noticed his three cousins were also standing to the side of their mother. His aunt always had them in tow, in the hopes of trying to foist one of them off upon an eligible bachelor, even though they were well past what society considered an acceptable age. “Ladies, how lovely to see you all.” He turned to Sophie. “Lady Sophie, if I might introduce you to what I have left of what one might call a family—”
“Cavalier as usual, Devlin. Really, I should have expected no less,” Lady Brampton said, her dark blue eyes narrowing as she boldly assessed Sophie. “I know who you are girl, and I would have assumed you to be a great deal more sensible than to associate with him. Your reputation will suffer.”
Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Surely you are not suggesting that there was any impropriety about my aunt and my sharing the Duke’s box this evening?”
Lady Brampton’s pinched lips seemed to tighten even further. “You are the only unmarried lady he has ever entertained in his box before. Such an occurrence is bound to invite comment.”
“Only from those with very little else to concern themselves with.” A look of defiance flashed in Sophie’s eyes. “You, of all people, surely would not concern yourself with such trite speculation?”
“Does the man’s notorious reputation not worry you? Particularly considering his father killed my husband!”
“Mother, you must not say such a thing,” his eldest cousin, Lady Amelia, exclaimed as she grabbed hold of Lady Brampton’s arm. “This is not the place to—”
At Sophie’s gasp, he regretted acknowledging his aunt. If only he’d just taken Sophie’s elbow and steered her far away from the woman.
“Hold your tongue, Amelia!” Lady Brampton cut her off as she shook her arm free from the girl’s. “He knows perfectly well that he was never meant to be the Duke but for his father’s treachery.”
Devlin brushed a speck of lint from his jacket, refusing to show her any reaction other than disdain. The woman was stuck in the past and had concocted a mad tale to deal with her husband’s accident all those years ago. “Such bitterness in your tone cannot be good for your longevity.”
“That is just the sort of blasé attitude one has come to expect from a bounder who continually disgraces the family name,” Lady Brampton said. “You are in trade, for goodness sakes, and little better than a bastard with that Irish governess mother of yours.”
A familiar rage began to burn low in his belly at the slur toward his mother. He’d had to put up with his grandfather maligning his mother for years growing up, and he damn well wasn’t going to countenance it from this spiteful creature.
“You go too far, Madam!” Sophie exclaimed before he could respond, stepping forward. “You have no right to speak to him like that.”
Devlin glanced in surprise at his fiancée, who looked like a lioness as she all but bared her teeth, facing off against his aunt. He’d never actually had anyone leap to his defense before. It sent a warm feeling through him, one he hadn’t really felt since before his parents had died. His throat unexpectedly tightened.
“I am the dowager Marchioness of Brampton. I can speak to him any way I choose.”
“Your rank gives you no right to be so rude,” Sophie replied.
The older woman glared forbiddingly at Sophie. “You have the audacity to speak to your betters in such a manner?”
“Lady Brampton,” Sophie began, “you may outrank me in social standing, but let us be clear: you are certainly not my better. Your inappropriate and rude behavior gives credence to that assertion.”
He reminded himself never to cross Sophie. Tempted as he was to step in and save her the grief of arguing with his aunt, it was clear she didn’t need his assistance. At all. And to tell the truth, he was rather captivated by the sight of her taking on a dowager marchioness.
For him.
“You would do well to mind your tongue,” Lady Brampton spat out.
“And you would do well to heed your own advice!” Sophie proclaimed.
“Ladies,” Devlin finally intervened. “Perhaps you both should calm down.” Though he was enjoying Sophie putting his aunt in her place, they were attracting a crowd. Normally, he wouldn’t care about causing a spectacle, but he did care about Sophie’s feelings.
He frowned. He’d never particularly cared about a woman’s feelings before.
“Stay out of this, Huntington.” Sophie glared at him briefly before returning her attention to Lady Brampton. “Families must be each other’s strongest support, yet here you are maligning him. Shame on you.”
“Ladies, please, calm down.” Devlin reached out and grabbed a hold of Sophie’s right elbow. She looked like a little hell cat heading into battle for him. “My dear, I do appreciate you defending me, but we are attracting a rather large audience.” The crowd within earshot had almost doubled.
“I do not care,” Sophie said as she shook his hand off her. “Know this, Lady Brampton”—she pointed her finger at the woman—“Devlin is not alone anymore for you to vent your spite on. When you say something derogatory about him, I will not stand by and allow it.”
Lady Brampton narrowed her eyes. “For such ridiculously loyal defense of him, one would have to assume that he has in fact compromised you. Which is as I had suspected.”
His body went rigid, as if she’d just slapped him. He sincerely would have preferred she’d done so instead of turning such a vicious attack on Sophie. “Now you go too far, Madam.” Devlin’s voice grew glacial. He moved in and whispered for his aunt’s ears alone, “Say one more spiteful word about Lady Sophie, and I will cut you off without a farthing.” When he’d inherited his Dukedom, Devlin had also inherited the pleasure of paying his aunt’s annual income.
Lady Brampton raised her head to look down her nose at him. “You would not dare.”
“Try me,” Devlin invited. “For I have been looking for an excuse to do so ever since I inherited the title.”
“But you cannot,” Lady Brampton crowed, keeping her voice equally as low as his. “Your grandfather’s will prevents it.”
“Actually, the estate itself was bankrupt when I inherited. Your yearly annuity has been coming from the coffers of my trade enterprises, so in actuality, I can do whatever I damn well want with my own money.”
Devlin had the satisfaction of seeing her face go sheet white. “No, not even you, with your disdain for this family’s good name, would do such a thing,” she declared.
“I think you know me better than that.” He smiled briefly. “I have paid little attention to your derogatory comments about my father and myself over the years, but you cross the line when that tongue of yours starts speaking about Lady Sophie,” he warned. “If I even hear so much as a hint of any slanderous rumors concerning her, I shall assume they have come from you, and trust me, dear aunt, you would not like the consequences.”
“But…but I have no control over all of the gossips and rumor mongers in London,” Lady Brampton spluttered.
“Come, dear aunt, we both know that your opinion of a person’s character is a view society follows. Up until now, Sophie has enjoyed an impeccable reputation, and if that were to change, I would assume you to be responsible and would take suitable action.” He edged away from her. “You would do well to ensure that you and your cronies only speak of Lady Sophie in the highest and most glowing of terms.”
Lady Brampton went silent as she appeared to digest his words, then she peered at Sophie. “You will get your heart broken, as sure as the sun rises, for having anything to do with him. Come, girls, I have had enough of being a spectacle for one evening; let us go.”
The woman headed for the archway.
“I am sorry, Lady Sophie,” Lady Amelia said. “And my apologies again, cousin.” She twisted her hands together as she looked at Devlin. “Mama has never listened to reason over Papa’s death. She still grieves terribly, but I am sure she truly meant no offense.” The stricken girl turned and followed her mother and sisters out of the salon.
As they left, Devlin scowled at the crowd of onlookers gathered throughout the room. Nearly all had the grace to turn away, looking slightly abashed at being caught staring.
Sophie clenched her hands into fists, fairly vibrating with fury in the aftermath of the encounter. “I have a half a mind to follow that aunt of yours and call her out.”
He could not help but grin. “I can see I shall be well protected once we are married.”
“Married?” a voice growled from behind them. “Over my dead body will you ever marry my sister!”
Devlin spun around. “Thornton?” he exclaimed at the sight of Sophie’s brother.
“Huntington,” the Earl of Thornton acknowledged grimly, right before his fist slammed into Devlin’s jaw.