Chapter Four
London, 1856
“My dear, what wonderful news I have just received!”
Sophie looked up from the accounting ledger she had been working on as her aunt burst through the study door waving a note in her hand, her eyes alight with excitement. Her heart leaped. She hadn’t heard from one of her former charges at the orphanage, Jane Thompson, for quite some time, and she couldn’t help but hope that the mail in her aunt’s hand contained a letter from her.
Several months ago, Jane had left her position with the Abelards, after the sudden passing of Lady Abelard, and had taken a position as a maid in the household of Lord and Lady Crowley. Jane had been writing to Sophie twice a week—to keep up her writing skills, she said, although both of them knew it was mainly because she missed her former home. Until about two weeks ago, when the letters had suddenly stopped.
Worried, Sophie had been checking the post daily. But one careful look at the note in her aunt’s hand only led to disappointment on that front. The handwriting was not Jane’s. And her aunt was hardly an enthusiastic supporter of the orphanage, so she wouldn’t be this worked up over one of its former charges.
She simply waited for her aunt to enlighten her as to the reason for her exuberant entrance.
“It is simply the most marvelous news ever!” Mabel Winthrup hastened across the room, the pink feathers in her greying auburn hair bobbing madly. “There is simply no time to waste. We must act with all haste.”
Her aunt was, to put it mildly, an avid gossip enthusiast with a flair for the dramatic. Her wardrobe often reflected her eccentricity, as she was always dressed in whatever colors and styles were deemed to be the most fashionable of the season, regardless of whether they actually suited her or not. And of course, to top it all off, she insisted on pairing each outfit with about a dozen of the same-colored feathers, pinned through her hair to cascade around her head in a halo of plumage. At least they made her easy to spot in a crowded ballroom, even if they did often impede her aunt’s vision.
This year, the color of the season was a vibrant yellow, which unfortunately clashed with the red of her aunt’s hair and only seemed to brightly enhance her rotund figure. The day dress she was wearing was, of course, made of bright yellow silk decorated with patches of even brighter pink and magenta flowers across it. The overall effect vaguely reminded Sophie of a canary wearing a fancy dress costume.
Sighing, she resigned herself to the interruption and replaced the quill she had been writing with into the ink pot. Her aunt collapsed onto the chaise longue perched under the window.
“Sophie, why must you work on those dreadful accounts? You know it pains me to see you stoop to levels so beneath you.” Disapproval warred with love in her aunt’s hazel eyes. “You are the daughter of an Earl; when will you start acting so?”
“Aunt, I have a sound mind, as well you know. You should not worry simply because I choose to make use of it instead of letting it go to waste.” If she’d been born a boy, her aunt never would have thought to question her over such things.
“Yes, yes,” Mabel allowed. “However, your brother employs a man of affairs to do such work. Honestly, sometimes I feel as if I have failed in my duties toward you. Your mother, my dear sister, must be turning in her grave at the very notion of you, aged four and twenty, still unmarried and going about calculating accounts in ledgers, rebuffing suitors, and spending a great portion of your time at that orphanage place. Oh dear,” she said as she placed her hand up to her forehead and collapsed back against the cushions. “I fear I may faint from the worry of it all.”
Sophie had become very accustomed to her aunt’s theatrics over the past ten years, ever since Mabel moved in with Sophie and her brother after their father had died. “Do stop fretting, Aunt. You know very well my mother would be proud of the work I do at the orphanage, following in her footsteps.” Grey Street Orphanage had been her mother’s passion, and Sophie intended to do all she could to ensure its continued success. “It is what Mother would have wanted and the least I can do to keep her memory alive.”
“Even she married and had a family,” Mabel replied.
“Yes and her marriage to Father was not something that you would call blissful, now was it?” Sophie could still see the tears coursing down her mother’s cheeks, time and time again—caused, of course, by her husband’s constant philandering.
“That is only because your mother had the ridiculous notion that marriage was about love. Such sentiment did not serve her at all well. Take me and my departed Winston for example. Ours was not a love match, and neither of us was under the mistaken apprehension that it was. Our marriage was one of obligation and duty. When you put love and nonsense into the mix, it just complicates things.”
“I could not agree with you more, Aunt. Which is why I have chosen not to marry. I am far too enamored of my independence to shackle myself with the complications of holy matrimony.” Besides, the running of the household and the orphanage kept Sophie too busy to ever consider having to be a good little wife and do a husband’s bidding—her previous infatuation with the Earl of Abelard aside.
“Yes, yes.” Mabel fanned herself with the note. “That is all very well and good for now, but what happens when your brother finally decides to marry? His wife will wish to be mistress of this home.”
Leaning back in her chair, Sophie sighed. Regardless of whatever they began discussing, the conversation always wound back around to her marital status or lack thereof. And while her brother’s future wife would likely want Sophie to find a home somewhere else, that wasn’t a crisis at the moment. She had plenty of those to deal with on a day-to-day basis with Grey Street. “Yes, Aunt, I do know. However, did you not have some wonderful gossip to impart?”
Mabel sat up instantly, her worry forgotten in light of the gossip needing to be retold. “Ladies do not gossip, Sophie; they share news.”
“What is this news then?”
Mabel edged forward eagerly. “You would never credit it. In fact, I feel my prayers have been answered.” She looked around the room surreptitiously, making sure that no servants were about. “Two of London’s most eligible bachelors have returned to England, and word is that they are both actively searching for a wife! Is that not the most exciting thing you have heard all year?”
Sophie had to make a determined effort not to roll her eyes. “You know perfectly well it is not. Nonetheless, if you are wanting to marry one of them, I wish you all the very best of success in the endeavor.” She eyed her ledger and inkpot, longing to be done with this conversation so she could get back to them.
“You are impertinent, Sophie Wolcott,” Mabel said. “You know very well I mean for one of them to marry you.”
Unfortunately, Sophie knew her aunt was in earnest. “And as I have told you countless times in the past, and obviously will continue doing so in the future, Aunt, I have no wish to marry.”
“Perhaps.” Mabel smiled knowingly. “Though you may feel differently when you hear the names of the two gentlemen involved.”
Sophie arched an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that. Now, Aunt, I really must finish this ledger and then get to the orphanage.” She picked up her quill, hoping the gesture would hurry Mabel along.
Her aunt waved her hand in dismissal. “The orphanage can wait. Do you not wish to know the two men’s names?”
She really did not want the orphanage to wait. It was the project of her heart, her mother’s legacy to her. However, she also knew of how obstinate Mabel could be, particularly regarding this specific topic. “No, but I am sure you shall enlighten me regardless.”
Mabel’s smile grew wider. “The Earl of Abelard is the first.”
“The Earl is back in England?” In the intervening year since watching him propose to another, then marry and be widowed, all in the space of a few months, Sophie had made a determined effort to not think about him. And she’d been rather successful, too. A shame, though, she couldn’t say the same thing of her thoughts relating to the Duke of Huntington. The rake had literally plagued them, ever since they’d met at his ball.
“Yes he is, and even better, he has apparently recovered from the tragic death of his first wife and is looking for a new countess.”
Sophie did not know how to respond. She had been infatuated with the earl since she was a girl, but she had given up any notion of a happily ever after with him. The man was most likely still in love with his wife, particularly given the woman’s tragic passing not long ago. And Sophie certainly had no intention of trying to replace her. Because truthfully, who wanted to be second best?
Her aunt continued on, obviously caught up in her visions of Sophie as an earl’s wife. “Of course he is a superb catch. He comes from a well-respected lineage, is very wealthy, has half a dozen estates and no apparent vices like gambling or the like that could squander away his fortune. Yes, he would do very nicely. However”—Mabel shook the note she was still holding in Sophie’s direction as she geared up to reveal the rest of her knowledge—“the news also implies that the Devil Duke is back in England and looking for a bride, too!”
That made her drop her quill. So much for not feeling a twinge. “The Duke of Huntington is looking for a wife?”
“Yes.” A satisfied glint radiated from her aunt’s hazel gaze. “Apparently, he is in a decided hurry.”
Sophie couldn’t help the laughter from bubbling out of her mouth. It couldn’t possibly be true. She had firsthand knowledge that Huntington liked his bachelorhood entirely too much. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in years. The Devil Duke to marry? Not likely. Aunt Mabel, you must have been ill-informed.” There was no way, on God’s green Earth, that the notorious rake would ever settle down and marry. Sophie rather doubted that the word “marriage” was even in his vocabulary.
“I assure you that my source is of the highest standard and is above reproach. The Duke is looking for a wife.”
Sophie mentally blessed the poor woman who’d end up shackled to that man. “And now you wish me to marry him?”
Dropping her note, her aunt reached for a biscuit and nibbled on it. “I think he would be an excellent choice.”
Excellent if one placed no value on loyalty and fidelity, perhaps. “Have you not always declared he was ‘an absolute bounder no respectable lady would consort with, let alone be seen with?’ I seem to remember you lecturing me often enough in the past on the pitfalls that would befall me if I fraternized with such a man. He was your favorite example of what to avoid when hunting for a husband.” And that was why she had made certain not to tell her aunt of the incident where she’d literally fallen at Huntington’s feet.
Mabel shifted uncomfortably on the chaise and cleared her throat. “Irrefutably, he was consorting with the wrong type of ladies in the past.” She paused and pursed her lips, clearly wondering how to justify her previous advice when it came to the Duke. “However, all men do so before they decide to settle down. Now that he is wishing to marry, it shall be quite acceptable for you to be seen in his company.”
“It shall, shall it?” She highly doubted that the man would ever mend his ways. And she was not going to pay any attention to the flutter in her chest at the thought of her aunt throwing her in his path. Her meeting the Devil Duke once more could not amount to anything good.
Her own mother had married an almost equally notorious rake, convinced that she had inspired him to “mend his ways.” And look where that had gotten her. A lifetime of heartache and unhappiness. “The day the Devil Duke decides to marry will be the day Hell freezes over.”
“Might I suggest you wear a warm cloak to the ball this evening then, my dear?” Mabel hefted herself off the lounge and waltzed over to the door. “The Duke is set to make an appearance, and who knows? Tonight may be the night that Hell does indeed freeze over.”