Chapter Eight
Sophie’s aunt huffed into the room, an expression of utter shock on her face, while Stokes and a barrage of footmen were at her back. Mabel glared first at Sophie, then toward the two men flanking her niece.
Oh, my. Theatrical fainting, she was used to. But she had never seen Mabel quite so furious before. “Aunt Mabel, I can explain,” she began. “It is no—”
“Do not ‘Aunt Mabel’ me, Sophie Louise Wolcott!” Mabel stalked into the room, the group of servants following closely at her heels. “Step away from Lady Sophie immediately,” she commanded the gentlemen.
With some reluctance, both Abelard and Huntington moved away from Sophie. Her fingers tingled where they’d been in contact with Huntington’s clothing. Good heavens, she was getting to be as ridiculous as the maidens who swooned over the Devil Duke at evening assemblies.
“Good,” Mabel declared. She inclined her head to the servants waiting behind her. “It appears the situation is at hand for the time being. Would you all wait in the hall? Oh, and Stokes, do ensure the door is closed behind you.”
“Very good, my lady,” Stokes bowed and motioned the footmen out of the room.
“Do stay within hearing distance,” Mabel called out, “just in case these gentlemen decide to forget all of their good breeding once again.”
“Yes, my lady,” Stokes said as he shut the door.
Mabel pinned Sophie with a look of outrage, gesturing wordlessly as her emotions built. Finally, the angry words burst forth: “What is the meaning of this? Have you completely lost your wits? Obviously, you must have! An unmarried lady, unchaperoned and entertaining men in the sitting room, alone? Are you completely insane, girl?”
“No, of course not, Aunt—”
“And not only that! No, the sound of screaming ringing through the entire household had everyone rushing toward this room, not to mention it sent a shiver all the way to my bones. My goodness girl, I thought a murderer had crept into the house to kill us all.”
“But Aunt—”
“I think I should have preferred the murderer, rather than to find you practically wedged in between these two.” She looked over at both men and grimaced. “Who are in a state of undress without their coats, I might add. Do you want me to have an apoplexy?”
“No, of course not,” Sophie tried to placate. She had never seen her aunt so furious nor as equally commanding before.
“My apologies, Lady Winthrup,” Abelard spoke. “It was unforgivable behavior on my part.”
Huntington tilted his head thoughtfully. “The only thing unforgivable about it was it put Lady Sophie in harm’s way.” That was almost gentleman-like. But she knew he was no gentleman.
Mabel curled her lip at the sight of their jackets strewn about the furniture. She snapped her hand toward the offending pieces of clothing. “I suggest you both put on your garments and take your leave at once.”
“But Aunt,” Sophie said, “I must speak with the Duke and the Ear—”
“No, you will not,” Mabel replied, her earlier thrill at the mere thought of her niece conversing with an eligible Duke apparently forgotten. “If they wish to speak with you, then they shall pay you the respect your position in society deserves and will call upon you another day. At a reasonable time, too, might I add, when a suitable chaperone such as myself is present.”
Mortified to be on the receiving end of her aunt’s reprimands and somewhat in awe of Mabel’s formidable temper, Sophie decided remaining quiet for a bit was likely her best option. She clasped her hands, widened her eyes, and tried to look as serene as possible.
“Your aunt is quite correct, Lady Sophie.” Abelard picked up his coat and approached Mabel. “I have paid you and your niece a great disservice today, behaving such as I have. I do apologize.”
“I had expected a great deal more, particularly from you, Abelard,” Mabel said. “Your reputation is that of a gentleman through and through. To behave in such a fashion is quite unacceptable. What would your dear mother think?”
“She would be as unimpressed as you, my lady,” he agreed with a dignified bow.
Mabel sniffed, though she looked somewhat mollified. “I do however trust that you will not make mention of this incident to anyone?” she said, the volume of her voice back to a conventional level. “And I hope it will not affect your opinion of Lady Sophie, as she is normally a model of propriety and sensibility.”
Huntington began to laugh but quickly covered it up with a cough. Sophie shot a quick glare at him, then resumed her calm pose.
“And you too, Your Grace.” Mabel directed her attention toward the Duke. “I trust Sophie’s honor and reputation is safe with you?”
“As safe as it ever will be, you can be certain of that.” Huntington widened those blue eyes of his and held out his hands, palms up, in an obvious effort to appear completely earnest. Sophie wasn’t fooled for an instant.
Mabel frowned a fraction at his reply. “Very good then.”
“Lady Winthrup, Lady Sophie,” Abelard said, “I shall take my leave now.” He cast Sophie a cordial bow before picking up her hand and placing a gentle kiss upon it. “Lady Sophie, if you will forgive me for my appalling behavior today, I should very much like to call upon you tomorrow.”
“Of course.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin scowl and felt a jolt of satisfaction at the sight. “I should like that.”
“I shall see you both on the morrow.” Abelard strode to the door, then stopped and glowered at the Duke. “Huntington,” he said with a stiff nod. “I intend to finish what we started at a more appropriate time and place.”
“Oh, we will, Abelard. You can be sure of that.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” the Earl replied as he opened the door and left.
Sophie studied Huntington and felt a moment of alarm. The blasted man looked as if he was anticipating the encounter.
He picked up his coat. “I shall take my leave, too.” He walked over to where Sophie and her aunt were standing.
“But what about your pledge for the orphanage?” Sophie blurted out. Perhaps she was being indecorous, but he and Abelard had just been circling each other in the drawing room like a pair of wild lions, battling over who would be head of the pride. If she had lost her manners, it was only for the best of causes.
“Ah yes, the money for your precious orphanage,” he drawled. “Tell me, has Abelard ever donated such a sum?”
“No, not such a large amount,” she answered, back on familiar ground. She had often played one man’s pride against another’s to persuade them to increase their generosity. “But he has donated a few times over the years. Several, in fact, if memory serves. It is a worthy cause.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, as if he knew perfectly well what she was about. “Yes, and that seems to be what you care for most, the children of Grey Street Orphanage. In fact, I think you would do practically anything to ensure their survival, would you not?”
What an odd question. “They have no one else who cares what happens to them. Which is why the money you are donating—and the Earl has donated in the past—is so important.”
“Sophie,” Mabel admonished, “do not speak of money!” She glanced over at the Duke. “Please forgive her, Your Grace. She knows better than to talk of such a vulgar subject.”
He put his coat back on, then leaned down and took her aunt’s outstretched hand. “Lady Winthrup.” He placed a quick kiss upon her glove before releasing her. “I applaud you for the years you have had to manage Lady Sophie. With her headstrong ways, it could not have been easy.”
Sophie ground her teeth at his patronizing tone but kept her expression carefully neutral, refusing to make eye contact with him. She knew he was only trying to tease her, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
“No, it has not been.” Mabel sighed but then looked up at him in alarm. “But that is not to say that she is headstrong. Why, quite the opposite, I assure you. She is actually very biddable and docile. Just not this morning.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. Biddable and docile indeed! Only in conversation with her own self, thank you very much.
“Of course,” Devlin agreed, a decided twinkle in his eye. “Fear not though, dear lady, I do not credit your niece’s stubbornness as a bad attribute. In fact, my opinion of her is the opposite.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it, Your Grace.” Mabel smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him, obviously doing her very best to appear charming, given the intimation that all was not lost.
“Now I must be off. I have much to organize.” He placed a warm kiss upon Sophie’s hand, and she clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip to keep her traitorous body from reacting. “And don’t worry over my pledge, Lady Sophie. I honor my word, contrary to what Society might believe.”
It didn’t work. A frisson of excitement raced through her from his touch, despite her best intentions not to allow it. She snatched her hand from his. He was the most unsettling man to be near.
He bowed and departed through the doors, never once looking back.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she sat upon the lounge.
“There is no time to sit, my girl!” Mabel cried. “A Duke and an Earl courting you. How wonderfully marvelous. Did I not say they were both looking for a wife? And they appear to have both set their sights on you. I think I might faint from the excitement of it all!”
Ah, there was the Mabel she knew and loved, exasperating though she might be. Sophie rolled her eyes. Goodness, there would be no deterring her aunt now.