Jilting the Duke (11 page)

“A small family dinner?” Sophia pointed at the line of carriages.

“I didn't invite anyone you don't like.” Ophelia embraced Sophia, then Aidan. “Of course some, like Malcolm's wife, you haven't met yet.”

“Malcolm is here?” Sophia peered into the open hallway for her cousin.

“Yes. I knew you would be pleased.” Ophelia took Sophia's arm in hers and walked toward the door, Aidan following. “So you must forgive me the others.”

“You said there was no one I didn't like.” Sophia pulled away to look Ophelia in the face.

“There isn't.” Ophelia waved Sophia's objection away. “Just a few that you might not prefer. Come along. Aidan, show her into the saloon. Now that you are here, I'll call for dinner.”

“Are we late?” Sophia whispered to Aidan, lapsing without meaning to into old patterns of familiarity.

“No, the others came early.” Ophelia had overheard. “I thought it would be easier, if they were already here when you arrived. It's your first excursion in company since your mourning ended, and you are the guest of honor, you know.” She moved away to call the servants and to announce Aidan and Sophia's arrival to the company.

“I thought you said she was limited by the word
family
,” Sophia accused in a whisper.

“Well, everyone here is someone's family . . . just perhaps not yours or mine or Ophelia's.” Aidan brushed his wavy hair back from his face.

Sophia stopped in panic. “But what if I don't remember them? It's been ten years—some of them were children when I left. What if I don't recognize members of my own family?”

“Then, if you allow me, I will remember them for you. Leave it to me: no one will suspect if you don't remember them.” Aidan extended his arm. “Ready?”

She took a deep breath before tucking her fingers into the bend of his elbow. “Yes.” They entered the dining saloon.

“Sophie!” a slender blond man wearing an embroidered green waistcoat exclaimed. He began to make his way toward them.

“Your youngest Elliot cousin. Ralph. One of the twins,” Aidan offered sotto voce.

“Ralph, is that you? Why you were barely out of Uncle Lawrence's nursery when I left!” Sophia extended her arms and offered an embrace.

“We were eight.” He waved toward another man at the pianoforte. “John is here too.”

John, wearing a pink waistcoat instead of a green one, came to embrace her. “We're thrilled with our gift. Thank you.” He kissed her on both cheeks.

The two men, nearly perfectly identical, stood side by side, grinning. Colored waistcoats aside, Sophia knew a way to tell the twins apart, if the difference had not disappeared as their faces aged. She watched for the telltale double-dimple in Ralph's right cheek, his twin having only one.

“Yes, the cage is perfect,” John continued. “We've wanted a larger iron one for some time, but haven't had the funds.”

“We certainly couldn't get the money from Father.” Ralph jostled John's arm.

“Not given how much our evil stepmother Annabella hates Fire and Brimstone,” John jostled back.

The twins laughed. The twins spoke so quickly, one almost on top of the other, that Sophia had no time to ask “what gift?” before they moved on. She looked to Aidan for help, and reassuringly he patted the hand she had placed on his elbow.

“I hadn't realized Fire and Brimstone were still alive. How old are they now?” Aidan asked.

“At least twenty. Macaws can live for more than fifty years in captivity. With the larger cage—it's as long as the side of our study—they seem much happier.”

“Yes, they must have known it was a gift from Sophie, because they have been singing her lullabies since we put them in it,” John offered sweetly.

Sophia remembered. After her marriage, she'd wept at leaving the twins, whom she had sung to sleep since their own mother had died when they were four. To appease her, Tom had brought his birds from his estate and convinced her they could learn her songs. But in the weeks she'd sung to them, all they had ever offered were imitations of various street singers' calls. “They learned the lullabies?”

“Yes, all of them. When we closed our eyes, we could imagine you were in the nursery with us, they imitated your voice so well.” Ralph's cheeks reddened at the revelation.

“Of course, over the years, they've parsed the songs together in their own way,” John added. “But we still find them . . .”

The twins looked shy for a moment, then continued in one voice, “comforting.”

“Didn't they have different names when Tom had them?” Sophia questioned.

“Oh, yes, but at eight, we found Heraclitus and Parmenides a little daunting.” For the next several moments, the twins shared the conversation, finishing each other's ideas, often in mid-sentence.

“So, we converted them from Greek philosophers into religious enthusiasts.”

“In honor of Annabella's puritan leanings.”

“We thought she might like them better if they were named after something she liked hearing about.”

“And the birds took to their new names with appropriate enthusiasm.”

“Yes, within days, they were calling each other Fire and Brimstone.”

“Especially whenever she came to the nursery.”

“Which wasn't often once we got the birds.”

“We were very grateful to you and Tom for that.”

As quickly as they'd begun talking, the pair fell silent.

Overwhelmed, she held out her arms and enfolded both young men together. Both whispered at once, “We missed you, Sophie. The birds couldn't replace you.”

“Perhaps some day I could hear the birds sing?” she asked when the embrace ended.

The twins suddenly looked sheepish. “That wouldn't be a good idea. They lived with us at Harrow. Now they stay with us at Oxford and at our club between terms.” Their voices trailed off, and they turned to Aidan for help.

Sophia refused them his aid. “So, in other words, your birds are not only named after hell, but they sound like they are personally acquainted with the region?”

“Well, yes!” Ralph agreed, then fell into silence when John elbowed him in the ribs.

Sophia patted each one's arm. “Tom would completely understand.”

* * *

Sophia soon learned that Ophelia's idea of a family dinner extended beyond Sophia's handful of blood relations to include Tom's family, Aidan's brothers, the local clergyman, several spinsters, the magistrate, and a handful of families whose daughters, though still too young for the London season, needed experience navigating social situations with strangers. Ophelia, eschewing precedence, had created a playful and original seating arrangement, based, she claimed, on drawing names from an envelope. But Sophia could see that it intermingled rank and gentry artfully, instead of sequestering her with Aidan, his brothers, and her cousins at one end of the table.

Sophia was seated at dinner between the parson and the magistrate, but happily both men were congenial companions, adapting their conversation to her interests and experiences. The parson had read Tom's
Systematical Botany
and applied Tom's observations to his own botanical pursuits. The magistrate was interested in Sophia's perceptions of the state of Italian politics.

Aidan was seated far to her right, surrounded on all sides by the daughters of her ever-affable cousin Hal Elliot, the twins' eldest brother and her senior by almost a dozen years. Across from her Hal conversed to his left with a dignified, gray-haired woman in her sixties whom Sophia remembered to be Tom's aunt Millicent and to his right was Malcolm's wife Audrey. Sophia could hear only snatches of a conversation that centered on the relative merits of various writers for the stage, but she kept finding her attention drawn to Audrey, whom Malcolm had introduced as his fair-haired gypsy.

The food was generous, the conversation jovial. By the end, Sophia realized that Ophelia had not lied: the people she had invited
were
Ophelia's family if not by blood, then by proximity and affection.

After dinner, Kate and Ariel played a duet on violin and cello, joined by the twins who were surprisingly accomplished baritones. The mill-owner's two daughters, singing in tightly harmonized voices, led the whole company in several popular songs.

Sophia's dance card, for Ophelia insisted on the convention even for a family dinner, filled quickly. Country dances with the twins were followed by a reel with the magistrate, whose round cheeks grew red with the exertion.

Malcolm had reserved the first dance after the break. “I believe this dance is mine,” he said, holding out his arm to Sophia.

The local brewer offered a regretful good-bye as Malcolm led her to the dance floor. “You seem to have won his heart.”

“I only asked some questions about the variety of his hops.” Sophia leaned into Malcolm's arm.

“He's sending you a hogshead of his finest porter,” Malcolm rebutted. They stopped at the edge of the dancing floor, waiting for the musicians to retake their instruments.

“I asked very good questions.” Sophia stepped back to regard Malcolm intently. “But let me look at you.”

Malcolm submitted to her inspection, straightening his crimson waistcoat and deep gray jacket, then standing straight.

“Marriage suits you. Your eyes are still that devastating green that drove the local girls mad, but the loneliness is gone.”

“Of all the cousins, only you ever knew I was lonely.” Malcolm placed his hand behind her back as the musicians finished tuning, and they stepped into the space reserved for the dances. “But you are right: marriage does suit me, though getting Audrey to the parson all in one piece almost eluded me.”

“Tom and I were concerned when you wrote of her injuries, but she seems to have recovered fully.”

He looked adoringly across the room at his wife, dazzling in a rich salmon satin. “Yes, thank heavens. I would never have forgiven myself otherwise.” At the first strains of the waltz, he began to lead Sophia in circles around the floor. “Audrey has convinced me it would be bad form to reject your gift, that I would not have refused had it been a bequest in Tom's will.”

“That's the perfect way to think of it: as a belated gift from Tom.” Once more Sophia found herself in the uncomfortable position of having no idea what gift she had given, and this time Aidan was not present to offer her help. Remembering the twins' birdcage, she offered, “And it's not so great a gift that you couldn't have purchased it yourself.”

He shook his head, but never missed a step of the waltz. “No, I could never have raised the funds to buy it.” He pressed his hand against her back to lead her into a spin outward, then lifted his arm to bring her back. “But you, sweet cousin, never forgot all our hours planning what we would do if we owned it. We're partners now, Sophie, whether you expected to be or not.”

She squeezed his hand. She knew what his gift had been. “Your father sold that land to make his fortune in Kentucky; now it's yours again, to build your fortune here. It's a gift that cost me nothing; it was part of an inheritance Tom received before he died. From what I've seen of Audrey tonight, you don't need any other partner.”

She watched Malcolm's eyes focus behind her and light up with love. On the turn she saw Audrey, talking with Aidan's brothers, her blond ringlets tied up with a wide green brocaded ribbon to highlight the green accents in her salmon gown.

“When we were young, I always wanted to marry someone like you: clever and funny and brave.” He paused. “But I'd given up finding someone like that, until I found Audrey.”

“I'm not sure I remember how to be brave, Malcolm . . . if I ever was.” She heard the music drawing to a close.

“You'll remember, Sophie.” He spun her out for one more turn. “I know you will.”

At the last turn, they stopped in front of Aidan. It was to be his dance, a rousing Scottish reel, but taking his leave of Malcolm, Aidan took Sophia's hand and drew her away from the dance floor.

“I have some intelligence you will find helpful. Shall we take some air on the terrace?” He led her to the curtained glass doors of the terrace.

Outside the night was cool, the light of the evening fading gently on the horizon.

“I'm hoping you plan to tell me what other gifts I've given . . . and to whom.”

He considered the other couples on the terrace, but none were close enough to overhear. “It took some coaxing, but eventually Ophelia confessed.” He held out a list in Tom's hand, with more than two dozen names, each one accompanied by instructions for a gift.

Sophia read it over. “This includes everyone in our circle before we left England: my cousins, your brothers and Judith, Tom's sisters. But how?”

“Tom was wealthy. Most of the gifts are not extravagant. In each case, Tom picked something the person desperately wanted, but for some reason could not or would not buy for themselves. Ariel's cello, Kate's violin, Hal's new hounds, Clive's set of Malone's edition of Shakespeare, Colin's landscape of Dedham Vale by John Constable. The only gift I think he got wrong is Judith's; I can't imagine her wanting anything so impractical.”

Sophia read down the list again to Judith's gift: a robust collection of novels from the Minerva Press. “That makes perfectly good sense to me,” she said, laughing.

The last name on the list caught her attention. “Benjamin Somerville to receive William Stansby's 1634 printing of Malory's
Morte D'Arthur
.” She grew sober. “Even a gift for Benjamin.”