Chapter Six
Sophie pulled off her bonnet and cloak and then hung them on the hook closest to the door. She had been completely unsettled since waking at dawn with the knowledge that the Duke was coming to call later in the morning. Unable to return to the blissful surrender of sleep, she had decided she might as well visit the Orphanage in the interim. It was one of the few places where she found peace and purpose, and the children always cheered her up immeasurably—a situation she was particularly desirous of right then.
A minute later, she walked into the breakfast hall and was greeted by a chorus of gleeful shouts of welcome from the children. They were all sitting on the benches lining the long oak trestle tables that ran the length of the room, eating their bowls of porridge.
A peal of laughter broke from her lips as several of the younger ones jumped up from where they sat and ran over to her. About five of them clamored around her skirts, all vying for cuddles.
“Lady Sophie, look, look!” Little Hannah, who couldn’t have been more than six, waved her pint-sized hand high above her head, proudly holding a front tooth between her fingers. “It came out this morning, like you said it would.” She grinned broadly, prominently displaying the wide gap in her mouth in place of the tooth.
“We shall have to ask Cook for salt to sprinkle on it.” Sophie leaned over and regarded the tooth, certain to keep a very serious expression on her face as she examined it. “Then you can cast it into the flames of the stove.”
“You gotta sing a good luck song, too,” Jeremy, a little boy with earnest brown eyes, piped up from where he stood next to Hannah. “’Tis important to do that before the tooth mouse gets it.”
The other children chorused agreement and then took turns shouting suggestions as to what particular song Hannah should sing. It was one of the children’s most favorite rituals.
Sophie felt her heart swell with love for them all. The majority had come from horridly squalid lives on the street, many often exploited into committing crimes by either a parent or the blackguards they had attached themselves to in order to survive. The lucky ones had been dumped at the orphanage when they were but babies and had never had to experience anything but Grey Street’s warm and safe environment. Yet all of them, under the patient guidance and care given to them by Maggie the headmistress, Sophie, and the other helpers, had flourished.
Facing the Devil Duke once more—and putting up with her aunt thinking he was courting her—was a small price to pay in order to help the children here to better themselves and make something of their lives.
…
“Darn it,” Sophie muttered to herself as she scribbled out the amount she had written in the accounts ledger for the fourth time. Her brain was refusing to concentrate on her task at hand. She had arrived back from the Orphanage about an hour ago and was still awaiting the blasted Duke’s appearance.
She threw her quill onto the blotter and leaned back in her chair, sighing loudly. She simply could not concentrate, and it was pointless to continue, only to have to recalculate every figure again and again.
Not that his imminent visit this morning had anything to do with her lack of focus. No, it was just that one thousand pounds was the biggest contribution the orphanage had ever received from one person alone. It would make an enormous difference.
“My dear, you are not doing those horrible accounts again, are you? It seems that whenever I come past this room, that is all you are ever doing.”
Looking up to the doorway, Sophie saw her aunt standing there with a frown upon her face. This morning, she was dressed in a gown of fuchsia taffeta sprinkled with pink pearls, thankfully quite un-canary like.
Sophie cringed inwardly as an image of a pink marshmallow with pink icing danced across her vision; well, surely resembling a marshmallow was better than resembling a bird.
“Actually, Aunt, I was just finishing. You are up awfully early today to be paying visits.” Mabel up and dressed before eleven? She must know that Sophie had been seen talking with the Duke last night. That was the only thing that would entice her aunt from her bed so early.
“Good gracious, I do not intend to pay visits at this hour of the morning, my girl. No, I am up early as Lord Hemingsworth is coming to tea at noon. Such a handsome man. At one stage, I even considered him for you, but alas, he is only a Baron, and that simply would not do.”
Sophie felt like rolling her eyes but managed to control the impulse as Mabel strolled into the room toward the sofa.
“Come and sit with me, dear,” Mabel said, sitting on the settee. “For there is much to discuss.”
Sophie raised her brow. “Much to gossip about, do you not mean?”
Mabel leaned forward and poured a cup of tea from a tray one of the servants had recently brought. “If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, ladies do not gossip, they—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Sophie interrupted as she stood and crossed over to where her aunt was seated. “They share news.”
“Quite so. Why you continue to vex me by calling it gossip, I just do not comprehend.” Mabel passed her a cup of tea and then poured another for herself. “But let us move on to more important matters. You were seen talking to Huntington last night.”
“I knew that is why you were down here so early!”
Mabel looked exceedingly pleased with herself. “I do have excellent sources. But do not keep me in suspense. What did you talk to him about?”
“The orphanage predominantly.” She grinned widely at the long-suffering look that graced Mabel’s face at her pronouncement.
“Oh, that place will be the death of me,” her aunt lamented, raising a hand to her brow.
Sophie caught sight of the clock on the wall and felt her pulse kick. She definitely did not want her aunt here when the Duke arrived. Otherwise, she would never hear the end of Mabel’s matchmaking plans. “Well, do not let me keep you from going about your business.”
“Why the sudden eagerness to be rid of me?” Mabel wrapped her hands around her tea cup, squinting at Sophie thoughtfully. “And you keep looking at the clock. Do not think I have not noticed.”
Her eyes peered at her niece over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of her tea. “Why is that, I wonder? And come to think of it, you are dressed a great deal nicer than usual this morning. You are even wearing some jewelry.” She placed her teacup back in its waiting saucer with a clatter, all the while assessing Sophie’s clothing with the observational skills of Scotland Yard’s finest.
“This old dress,” Sophie said, looking down at the gown she had taken an inordinate amount of time in choosing when she’d dressed this morning. “Just something I found in the back of my closet that I thought should probably get some wear.”
Why did her aunt have to have such sharp eyes when she chose to?
“Old dress?” Mabel said. She leaned forward and gently pinched the blue fabric between her thumb and forefinger, as if testing the silk for quality. “That is one of the dresses I forced you into ordering a month ago, for it is of the very latest style. What is going on? You never wear pretty new dresses or jewelry—unless of course you are lobbying for donations for that place of yours.”
“It seemed ridiculous to have been forced to order new clothes and then not wear them.” Which was true enough.
Mabel pursed her lips. “Well, I do suppose it is good you are starting to take an interest in your appearance, particularly when the Duke comes calling.”
So her aunt knew of his visit already? Of course she did; she had excellent sources, after all. Sophie placed her own cup and saucer onto the table. “He is only visiting today to deliver the amount he promised for the orphanage, Aunt. He is not interested in courting me.”
Mabel spluttered on a sip of tea she had just taken. “What do you mean, come calling today? Surely I misheard you?”
Sophie cringed. “But you just mentioned him coming to call?”
“I meant, when he eventually came to call.” Her aunt froze for an instant, gaping at her with such momentarily pent-up indignation, Sophie imagined that her fuchsia dress was about to inflate in fury. Finally, the words burst forth, but they started out soft, her aunt’s tone eminently reasonable. “You cannot mean that a duke, let alone the Duke of Huntington, is coming to call on you, here? In this residence? This very day?”
Looking down at her aunt, Sophie braced herself for the storm about to erupt. “Yes, he is. But,” she rushed on, “he is only visiting because he pledged a very large sum to the orphanage and has to deliver the bank note in person.”
“Are you mad, Sophie Louise Wolcott?” Mabel leaped to her feet and ran over to the bell pull. She yanked on it with all her might. “A duke here? And you did not inform me or anyone in the household? How could you do such a thing? We are so unprepared for such an event. What will he think? And with him searching for a wife, too. The disaster I see looming ahead! My God, we must prepare immediately. Stokes! Stokes! Where in God’s name is that butler? Stokes!” she called loudly toward the door, punctuating each sentence with an increasingly frantic tug at the bell cord.
“I am here, my lady,” the butler replied as he hobbled, fairly quickly for him, into the room.
“Well, do not just stand there. We must prepare immediately.” Mabel rushed over to him and swung her hands in a shooing motion toward the door. Not knowing what it was he was supposed to prepare for, Stokes patiently remained where he was, awaiting further orders. Mabel shot him an exasperated look and then deigned to elaborate. “The Duke of Huntington is going to call upon Lady Sophie. There is no time to waste. We must get the best silver tea service made ready, and Cook must bake a batch of her famous jam biscuits immediately. Everything must be perfect for his visit, and we must hurry; visiting starts from noon.”
Mabel’s attention returned to Sophie, and she once more scanned her from head to toe. “And you, Sophie Louise Wolcott, cannot receive a Duke in such a simple outfit. You must change, too, and immediately.”
“You were just commenting on how nice my dress was,” Sophie muttered, already tired from listening to her aunt’s instructions. She could only imagine how poor Stokes was feeling.
“I commented that it was nicer than what you usually wear. My goodness, girl, it is not nice enough to receive a duke in, for heaven’s sake.”
“Well, it is what I am wearing.” It wasn’t like Huntington was actually coming to court her. Her dress was fine for accepting a bank note for the orphanage.
“Oh, you do make my attempts to secure you a husband very difficult indeed,” Mabel said as she raced out the doorway.
Sophie breathed in a sigh of relief. Now if only the Duke would accommodate her and show up within the next few minutes, Mabel would be too busy changing to be able to come downstairs and meddle.
Just then, she heard the muted sound of a carriage clambering to a stop. What perfect timing! Grinning, she raced over to the window. A mahogany carriage stopped in front of the entrance, and a yellow liveried footman jumped down from the side of the carriage and opened the door. Odd, she’d thought the Duke’s livery was black.
Her jaw dropped, and she felt certain she must be seeing things.
It was not the Duke of Huntington come to call after all. No, it was the Earl of Abelard who was striding up the front steps of the entrance.
Good gracious. Now her aunt would think that both men were courting her, and Sophie would never hear the end of it. What an absolute nightmare.