Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (32 page)

“Very slim. He’s a self-important toad.”

Slowly she handed the missive back. “Greaves says we have a stake in this. In your opinion, could Hennessy shut the club down? We’ve had people speaking against us before, but he has his fingers in a great many pies.”

Silently Oliver rose to join her by the window that overlooked the club’s garden. Even with the roses cut back and the trees bare, it still looked inviting. And she was beginning to feel in need of a breath of fresh air.

“In a pitched fight,” Oliver said in a low voice, “and taking into account his friendship with the prime minister and his influence over the House of Lords, yes. I think he could have our doors closed.”

“Then the wisest course of action would be to let him have his way,” Diane commented. “All he wants is Sophia gone from here, after all.”

“And he’s found her a husband. It isn’t as if he’s ordering us to do anything, nor is he turning her out onto the street,” Lord Haybury agreed. “And as Greaves said, I certainly owe him nothing—other than a bloody nose, that is.”

She had begun this club to provide for her own future. To make wagering pay her back a little for the trouble it had caused her life. The Tantalus girls, as the club’s members had begun calling them, were employees, pretty things to entice the high and mighty to come calling and lose their money. This was not a home for lost women or a refuge for the scandalous and ruined.

Or it hadn’t begun as one, anyway. Diane nodded, her gaze still on the garden. “I won’t see Sophia given away to someone unworthy simply to save us some trouble.”

Oliver drew his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “I’m not giving you your Christmas gift until I return, I’ll have you know.”

Twisting, she faced him. Sliding her arms around his shoulders, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him again. “If you find yourself face-to-face with the Duke of Greaves, make an effort not to kill him. I have no desire to be widowed a second time when they hang you for it. I’ve become accustomed to having you about.”

She felt him smile against her mouth. “I love you, too, Diane.”

*   *   *

The Hanlith church had clearly been built with the idea that it would on occasion house more than just the village’s residents. The entire wing, set at a right angle to the main part of the church and out of the line of sight of all but the first pew of villagers, boasted more comfortable benches, the Duke of Greaves, and his entire retinue.

Sophia sat at the end of one pew at the back of the nobleman’s wing, Camille beside her. At the front, the Reverend Gibbs droned on and on. When they’d all filed into the church, the rector’s wife, introduced only as Mrs. Gibbs, had been standing beside him. Presumably she currently sat somewhere in the main wing, listening to her husband discuss the wages of sin and the sacrifices of the worthy. What had Mrs. Gibbs sacrificed? she wondered. Was she happy being married to a man who spent his time preaching to and advising others about how to live their lives? Was he a good husband to her? As a young woman, had she envisioned a life of romance and adventure for herself?

At least she could sit in the back of the church here, Sophia thought. Adam in the front pew had to pay attention and sit straight. Christmas Day. As much as she’d looked forward to the celebration at a grand country estate, she also dreaded it. In less than a fortnight, guests would begin leaving, going home to spend at least a short time before the lords, at least, had to journey to London for the winter session of Parliament.

She’d anticipated misery, but in a sense knowing that Adam was embarking on married life himself would be even worse. If her father had only bothered to acknowledge her, things could have been so different. Perhaps marrying a duke would still be beyond her reach, but it would at least have been worth a daydream or two. People wouldn’t have turned their backs on her from the moment of her earliest memories. She would have been able to attend the occasional Society soiree and evenings at the theater. But as she still wouldn’t have had Adam, perhaps a more acceptable life didn’t matter all that much, after all.

Oh, for heaven’s sake
. She’d learned long ago that the world didn’t alter just because she wished for it. And if her heart felt broken at the mere thought of leaving Greaves Park, that was only because she’d wished for something she knew perfectly well she couldn’t have. Even so, these few weeks marked the first time she could recall wishing she’d been born someone else, wishing her circumstances had been different.

Finally the sermon ended, and the Greaves Park group began filing out of the church and back to the plethora of vehicles waiting for them. As she moved to one side, Lady Scoffield stepped on her toe.

The woman glanced at her, then looked away—and then stopped. “I beg your pardon, Miss White,” she said, turning around and smiling. “Please forgive me.”

Sophia blinked. “Of course. No harm done.”

“Thank you, my dear. And Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you, my lady.”

“What was that?” Cammy asked from directly behind her.

She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

That wasn’t even the first time one of the members of Lady Wallace’s frowny band had surprised her. Over the past two or three days, several of them had said hello to her. Phillip Jennering had even stood when she’d walked into the breakfast room yesterday. It all seemed suspiciously like something Adam would have arranged. She would have confronted him about it, except that whatever his last encounter with Eustace had been, it didn’t seem to be anything he’d won.

She rode back to Greaves Park in the Blackwoods’ coach, accompanied by the Blackwoods and Lady Caroline Emery. At first Lady Caroline’s presence in their little group of misfits had made her suspicious. Then Francis Henning had told her about a rumored familial connection to an opera singer, and the good
ton
’s reticence around her made more sense—especially once it became clear that Adam preferred her over the rest of the bridal parade. And she’d seemed genuinely pleased to be welcomed into their band.

Once back at the manor she hurried upstairs to collect her paper-wrapped gifts and carry them down to the drawing room. As Milly had explained it, gift giving at Greaves Park was a very informal affair, everyone sitting where they pleased and handing presents to their recipients with no rhyme or order.

When she arrived in the drawing room, it was filled with guests and gift-carrying servants and boxes and ribbons and white paper. Sophia stopped in the doorway just to look. So this was what Christmas looked like in high Society. It was very colorful, and loud, and full of the smell of peppermint tea and warm, liquid chocolate.

“Sophia!” Camille waved at her from a grouping of chairs brought in from another room and set beneath the large windows in the east wall.

Grinning, she made her way through the crowd, accepting and returning at least a dozen more greetings than she’d expected. Selecting the correct package for each of her friends, she handed them over before she plunked herself down in a facing chair. “I originally had other gifts for you, but I suppose now some fisherman downriver will make someone in his family very happy with an onyx cravat pin and blue ear bobs.”

Camille chuckled. “You didn’t need to get us anything, Sophia. And certainly not a replacement gift.”

“I wanted to. And forgive the workmanship.”

Camille untied the ribbon and opened the paper. “Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed, holding up the blue and white knitted scarf. “You did this?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Knitting is a grand way to spend the evenings at boarding school.”

Keating opened his, revealing the darker blue and green of his own wrap. “Well done, Sophia,” he said, sitting forward to kiss her on the cheek. “And very useful.”

“Yes, one season a year at least,” she returned with a smile.

“For you, Miss White.”

Startled, she looked up to see Lady Stanley holding out a small box tied with a pretty red ribbon. “I … Thank you.”

Sophia sent a quizzical frown to Cammy. Her friend shrugged, which wasn’t helpful at all. With a tight smile at Lady Stanley, Sophia pulled off the ribbon. Inside the box lay a very pretty blue fan ribbed with ivory and featuring a delicate painting of a white dove.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” she said, looking up. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re quite welcome.” The woman stood there for a moment, looking at her expectantly.

With a sinking feeling, Sophia forced another smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have a gift to give you in return, my lady.”

Lady Stanley smiled again, the expression not reaching her eyes. “I didn’t expect one. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you, Lady Stanley.”

When she walked away, Sophia sat back. “That was … curious.”

“Has she ever even spoken to you before?” Cammy whispered, her expression quizzical.

“Mostly just to insult me.”

“A discussion for later,” Keating broke in, producing a small box from his pocket and handing it to Camille. “Happy Christmas, my love.”

With a glance at her husband that Sophia couldn’t even begin to decipher, Camille grinned and opened the box. From inside she drew out a stunning necklace of pearls and a matching pair of ear bobs. “Oh, Keating, it’s lovely,” she whispered, handing him the necklace and leaning forward so he could fasten it around her throat.

“As are you.”

Camille moved to the edge of her chair and kissed her husband. It was terribly scandalous to do such a thing in public, but Sophia didn’t mind. She looked down, studying her fan, until the two separated again. That was what she wanted. That moment when no one in the world existed but that single, vital person.

“Here you are, Sophia.” At Camille’s gesture, Keating reached behind his chair and produced a large hat box, which he handed over to Sophia.

She took it, pulling off the lid, and lifted a very pretty straw hat trimmed with a sprinkling of green and yellow straw flowers and matching ribbons. “It looks like springtime,” she said, and hugged her friends. “Thank you so much.”

“Happy Christmas, Miss White,” another voice came, and she looked up once more.

This time it was Eustace, Lady Wallace, and she tensed. “Happy Christmas, my lady,” she said cautiously.

“I purchased you a gift.”

What is it, a poisonous viper?
Sophia wondered, but took the object wrapped in neat white paper. Because Lady Wallace seemed to want to watch, she swiftly opened it—and pulled out a beautiful pair of white kid gloves edged with pearl buttons.

“My lady, this is too much,” she protested, looking up again.

“Just a small token,” the marchioness returned, and was gone into the crowd again.

“Be certain they aren’t poisoned,” Keating advised in a low voice.

“That was my first thought, as well,” she returned, setting them atop the hat box.

Within the next ten minutes she’d received eight additional gifts, all from people she knew despised her: a pewter ring box, a necklace with a single faux emerald on a silver chain, another fan, a warm fur muff for her hands, a porcelain vase decorated in the Japanese style, a pair of diamond ear bobs, a silver calling card holder actually engraved with her initials, and a set of lovely blue teacups. Each one was more than she could afford to spend on herself, and each gift-giver waited to watch her open the present—and until she had to say that she had nothing to give in return.

Evidently Lady Wallace’s new plan was to kill her—or at least terribly embarrass her—with kindness. No one else had as many gifts as she did, and no one else received more attention. It was certainly a unique way to be cruel.

Adam finally made his way from the other side of the room to their group. Udgell and two footmen trailed behind him, the butler bearing unopened gifts, and the footmen with boxes and sacks of presents clearly meant for the duke. Very nice presents. Sophia glanced at the small paper package still by one foot. A gift not fit for a duke.

“Happy Christmas, Blackwells, Miss White,” he drawled, shaking Keating’s hand and kissing first Camille’s knuckles, and then hers. He squeezed her fingers for just a heartbeat, and then released her again. “I come bearing gifts. Or rather, I come with people bearing gifts.”

Udgell handed him a large bag, which he in turn gave over to Keating. From inside Keating removed a finely crafted leather bridle, the fastenings covered with highly polished silver. At the same time, Keating motioned at yet another footman, who approached with a silver-trimmed hunting saddle for Adam. “Evidently we had the same thought,” he said, grinning.

“Well done,” Adam returned, running his hand along the saddle. “Walsall made?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered bringing it if it wasn’t,” Keating said dryly. “We’re not even for everything you’ve done for me, but this makes us closer.”

“I’ll accept that.” Adam took another package and handed it to Camille. “And for you, my dear. I have faith in your good taste despite your choice of husband.”

“And now we’re even closer to being even,” Keating rumbled.

Laughing, Camille opened the small box, to reveal a very pretty pearl pin. “Pearls! It’s perfect.”

“Keating said something about you liking pearls, and anything but a necklace. I hope this suffices.”

“It does. Quite well.” She stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

Adam glanced at Sophia, then took another package from Udgell and handed it over to her. “And a little something for you, Miss White. Happy Christmas.”

“The same to you, Your Grace.” Before she lost her nerve, Sophia reached down for the last present and handed it to him. “And something for you.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieting as he took the gift.

She wondered if he was worried it would be something to show their connection, and if he would open it or not for that reason. But then he pulled off the bow and opened the paper. An intricate weave of blacks and grays and browns crisscrossed one another along the length of the scarf. It had nearly left her crippled and blind, but she’d finished it.

“You made this, didn’t you?”