The Charmer (23 page)

“So it was Everdon that made you what you were.”

I was molded to become Everdon, but I was bred to be a duke. Since you do not understand, I will answer in a way you might comprehend. I was born unusually free of the sentiment you call love, and that helped me become a strong Duke of Everdon.

“I think that is sad.”

You would. Because there is much of me in you, and you were hoping for a different answer. However, I have never held with telling people what they want to hear instead of the truth.

“Then hear some truth from me. You were not a good man. You were cold and hard. That is not strength. I will show you how it can be done another way. I will be nimble and clever, but never ruthless. Nor will I permit duty to turn me to stone.”

Then I must watch the deterioration of the prestige and power built over centuries.

“Your confidence, as always, gives me heart.”

I am finished with you. I had hoped these last few months had taught you something.

“There is one more thing, Papa.”

What is that?

“I forgive you.”

There is nothing for you to forgive.

“There is much to forgive.”

Have it your way. But, Sophia, never forget. I do not forgive you.

“I did not expect you to. But I will forget. I intend to start forgetting today.”

The next day after breakfast Sophia found two men cooling their heels outside the study. One was her new solicitor, Julian Hampton.

“Mister Hampton, I am glad that you could arrange to come. Have you been examining the papers?”

“I have, Your Grace. With Mister Carson's aid, we should know the state of things very quickly.”

She turned to the other man. Aging and gray, he appeared ill at ease. He smiled cautiously while he made a bow. “Your Grace.”

She led the way into the study. “Mister Hampton has convinced me that perhaps I was too rash in releasing you, Mister Carson. After all, you have been my father's secretary for over twenty years. Are you content to live off the bequest he left you, or are you interested in continuing your duties here?”

“The bequest was generous, but service to Everdon has been my life. I would prefer to serve until my abilities fail me.”

She paced along the wall lined with mahogany shelves holding registers and portfolios of documents. Other walls displayed sedate oil landscapes. Some fox tails and other trophies of the hunt were tacked between the long windows. Besides some plain wooden chairs, the huge dark desk and smaller secretary were the only furnishings.

A man's study, and very much Alistair's. Alistair the Duke, not the father, and the part of him contained here did not disturb her too much. Still, she flung open the windows so the sultry summer air could decimate the vague scent of him.

“This is what I propose, Mister Carson. The three of us will go through my father's correspondence from the last two years and you will explain what every letter was about and what my father's plans and intentions were. If I perceive that you are forthright and honest, I will consider keeping you on. If you are not, you will never cross this threshold again.”

“That is acceptable to me, Your Grace.”

“Is it? We will be looking at his letters to me and about me, too, I should warn you.”

“I can see where that could be awkward, but I will do my duty.”

“Then let us get started.”

They spent the next three days sequestered in the study while Jacques and Attila made free with the luxury of Marleigh. Her friends went riding and played tennis, while she pored over contracts and leases. Attila began composing a new sonata on the pianoforte, while she learned about Everdon's investments. After dinner the second night, Jacques read a new love poem. It employed the rose metaphor. Sophia barely heard it. Her mind was on items of unfinished business that Mister Hampton had brought to her attention.

The last day she discovered a thick green portfolio tied with red ribbon.

“That contains copies of the duke's private letters, Your Grace,” Mister Carson explained. “The ones he wrote himself, and that I never saw.”

“It might be prudent just to burn it,” Mister Hampton advised.

Probably. That would be the wise choice.

She pulled at the tie of the ribbon. “Occupy yourselves. I will review this alone.”

The portfolio spanned Alistair's adult life. She began with the oldest letters and worked her way through the years. There were notes to old friends and a series of political missives. She discovered epistles of instruction to Brandon at school. Most of their contents were as distant and cold as the duke himself.

Early on she began finding some personal letters of a different tone, however. Love letters. Not to her mother. The Duke of Everdon had enjoyed a series of mistresses. There were few names on them, just salutations of “my dear.”

She skipped their contents, but could not ignore the periodic flurry of them that indicated a new affair, and then the eventual silence that said that woman was history.

It surprised her how much they saddened her. She had assumed that she was beyond such a reaction where Alistair was concerned. Maybe she had hoped that with their mother at least . . .

She flipped quickly until she got to the most recent letters. Near the top, among the correspondence written the month before he died, she found the only letter addressed to Gerald Stidolph. Her cousin stayed so close to Everdon that most communication could be verbal.

When she read the letter she understood why Alistair would have wanted to convey its news from a distance.

In it the Duke of Everdon admitted that he was getting concerned about his age and the succession. He had concluded that his daughter would never be agreeable to marrying Stidolph. He was pursuing alternate matches in the hopes of luring her home to do her duty.

Then, at the end, he confessed that their plan to make her wed Gerald had grown distasteful to him, in any case.

She focused on that line, and read it again and again. It was the only evidence that she had ever had that her father had considered her feelings in anything.

Gerald's disapproving expression filled her mind. She remembered how he had been harping on her need to satisfy her father's wishes. The abusive way that he had played on her guilt had even been more insidious than Alistair's.

She removed the letter from the portfolio and folded it. This one would return to London with her. After Alistair's death, Gerald had conveniently forgotten that it had been written.

Mister Carson stacked some portfolios and carried them back to the shelves. Those endless documents represented an important part of Everdon's power and most of its wealth. The lessons of the last few days had not overwhelmed her. She could do it. She could make the myriad decisions if she chose to.

Only she did not want to. She did not want to spend her days deciding what the rents should be next year, and whether to hold or sell the investment in those canals. She possessed the head for it, but not the nature. She would much prefer to hand it all over to someone else who would manage it for her.

If she accepted Everdon, she would have to decide who that someone should be. There were important decisions and duties waiting, besides those filed on that shelf. Foremost was the one to produce an heir, and she wasn't getting any younger.

The spirit of the house suddenly saturated her. The dukes down through time clamored for attention. She sighed at their silent demands.

She had come to decide what to do, but of course there had never really been any choice. Hadn't Adrian warned her of that the first night in Paris?

But I will do it my way, not Alistair's way and not yours, she said to the house.

While dressing for the coronation, Dot had ceremoniously placed the ducal coronet on her head. Now Sophia mentally repeated the action, using her own hands.

She closed the green portfolio and finally laid the previous Duke of Everdon to rest.

Well, maybe not to rest. She suspected that before she was done, he would turn in his grave.

chapter
23

T
he invitation to share tea arrived in the morning post. It was inscribed on the finest cream-laid stock and bore the ducal crest. Sophia had not written it. Adrian recognized the hand as that of Carson, Alistair's secretary.

Tea?
Tea?
She had quietly returned to London three days earlier, had not contacted him, had moved out of the small house nearby, and now she had sent a formal invitation to share
tea
?

The message could not have been clearer if she had given him pearls as a parting gift.

Time had been fanning a slow burn since he had learned from his runners that she was back. Now it flared into scorching resentment.

He had been creating pitiful excuses to avoid facing the truth. He had rationalized that of course she would want to move back to Everdon House now that it was repaired. He had almost convinced himself that once she had resettled herself he would hear from her.

Hell, he had been right about that part.

Crushing the paper in his left hand, he scratched out an equally formal note of regret and sent it off.

He barely heard the debates in the Commons that afternoon. Since he was due to give a speech the next day, he knew that he should pay more attention, but his mind was full of Sophia. A thick, melancholic regret clouded his perceptions. Sometimes spikes of caustic rage penetrated it, but little else. Certainly not the histrionics of his fellow Tories, valiantly fighting a losing battle.

Which was why James Hawkins had to nudge his arm to get his attention after the session adjourned.

“Shall we go together?”

Adrian was in the middle of a mental lecture in which he was accusing Sophia of cowardice in letting a grand passion simply fade away. At the very least he had the right to a dramatic confrontation and clean break.

“Go where?”

“To call on the duchess. Surely you received the summons. We all did.”

The slow burn instantly turned to white heat. “Are you saying that
all
of her M.P.'s were invited this afternoon?”

Hawkins backed up a bit. “Don't know why you are angry. Makes sense, doesn't it? Past time for us to get off the fence. Especially you, what with your speech planned for tomorrow.”

Adrian came close to punching Hawkins merely because he was the nearest target.

“Of course I am going. Hell, I wouldn't think of missing it. It would not do to insult my patroness, would it? We will take my carriage.” He grabbed Hawkins by the shoulder of his coat and hauled him away.

“I say,” Hawkins muttered, stumbling to keep up. “This is most undignified.”

“We must hurry. Don't want to be the last there, do we? She may think we don't have the proper respect. She may surmise that we take her damn favor the hell for granted. She may even conclude that we mistook her for a soft and caring woman instead of the great Duchess of Everdon.”

Hawkins tripped along, more aghast with each step. By the time they claimed the carriage, he looked like he feared he had fallen into the hands of a madman.

“You seem out of sorts, Burchard. I heard that you had been conched on the head a while back. Perhaps you should beg off and get some rest.”

“Get in.”

“By Jove, the afternoon is fair, isn't it? I think that a walk would be very pleasant after—”

“Get in. Duty calls, Hawkins. Lesson number one in being an owned man is that Power should never be kept waiting. I trust that you brought some of your poetry to read in case the duchess wants to pretend that this is a social engagement.”

Hawkins reluctantly climbed into the curricle. “Actually, I do have a few sonnets with me.”

“That will be a rare treat for us all.”

They were not the first to arrive. Harvey Douglas already fawned over the duchess in the drawing room when Adrian and Hawkins were announced.

Adrian almost forgot his annoyance upon seeing Sophia. She had dropped the mourning. She wore a pale green gown with a rose sash and its broad neckline exposed her shoulders. A discreet necklace of gold filigree lay on her luminous skin. She appeared serene and happy and at peace.

He knew at once that the visit to Marleigh had been good for her. She had accomplished what she set out to do. He had never doubted that she would. Hadn't he told her that she was one of the strongest women whom he had ever met?

Pride swelled in him, making an odd mix with his resentment. She had discovered who she was. The implications for her love affair with Adrian Burchard had been inescapable.

Still, she should have done it differently. Now he would always wonder if he had imagined the best parts.

She rose and came toward him. “I am grateful that you were able to attend after all, Mister Burchard.”

“I was able to rearrange my appointments.” He briefly took her hand and made a formal bow. She looked startled at the gesture. He glanced into her eyes and let her see his resentment.

Her gaze turned frosty. He still saw the depths and layers, but self-confidence had replaced the flickering guilt and fear.

She greeted Hawkins and then foisted him on Douglas before easing Adrian away.

“Where have you been?” she hissed.

“Where I always am.”

“Why haven't you come to see me?”

“I received no request to do so.”

“Since when do you wait on a request?”

“When you have left the city and I have no way of knowing that you are back.”

“Of course you knew. Those men you had secretly watching my house saw me return. I waited up that whole first night, expecting you. I needed to speak with you and tell you what I planned to do.”

Two other guests were announced just then. “It appears that I will learn with everyone else.”

“I am not speaking only of politics and you know it. Why are you so cold? Are you that unsympathetic a friend?”

“I am not amused by the circumstances of our reunion.”

“It is your own fault. You should have come. What was I to think when you did not?” She glanced to where her guests waited expectantly. “I need to explain things to you.”

“This is hardly the place for it.”

“Stay after the others leave.”

He felt his jaw stiffen. He looked away so anyone watching would think their exchange a casual one. “Ask sweetly and I will consider it.”

“You came here determined to vex me.”

“I came here because I was obligated to do so. I am not obligated to stay when this is over. If you have accepted your position, I am glad for you. If you are feeling your oats, that is understandable. But I am the man who has possessed you and who knows your body better than you do, and you
will not
command that man to attend on you.”

She flushed so red that everyone must have noticed. “My apologies, Mister Burchard.
Please
stay after the others leave.” She bit out the request before sweeping away to her backed-up arrivals.

He wasn't sure that he would. He suddenly realized that he did not want a dramatic confrontation after all. He did not want to endure the regretful explanation.

The drawing room filled. Tea was served. They spent an hour pretending that it was mere coincidence that the duchess had invited her twelve M.P.'s to her house on the same afternoon.

Hawkins read his sonnets. They weren't half-bad, which made them barely half-good. The last was a flowery tribute to the duchess. Sophia beamed appreciation and Hawkins began looking roguishly hopeful again. The other men felt obliged to praise and discuss the poems for a quarter hour.

Finally, Sophia got down to business. “I know that all of you have been waiting for my word on the bill being discussed in the Commons. I expect that you are being pressed by your colleagues for your position.”

“Hardly pressed, Your Grace,” Douglas said. “Rumors have been about all summer that we will be with Wellington and Peel and the Tories.”

“I trust that you are not behind those rumors, Mister Douglas. I made very clear at Haford that only I would give the word.”

“Not me. I heard that Wellington himself has been counting us in. Some say he got reassurances, and I just assumed you had spoken with him.”

Eleven heads nodded. Sophia's glare came to rest on the one that did not.

Adrian sipped some tea. She should have known that he was lying to Wellington when the Iron Duke didn't press her.

“Not that it will matter much,” Hawkins said. “A bill is sure to pass soon.”

“We still need your official word, of course,” Douglas said. “The closer the vote, the easier it will be for the House of Lords to hold the line and kill it.”

Sophia's gaze scanned the room. Talk dribbled off. Everyone knew that a ducal announcement was coming.

“I called you here to let you know what I have decided. I have thought long and hard about this, and I suspect that some of you will not agree with me, but it is how I choose to go.”

Bodies angled toward her. Silence reigned. Her dramatic pause stretched.

Adrian succumbed to a childish urge to ruin the show. He set his cup down, very noisily. It wobbled and tinged and clattered, distracting the audience.

He had a thousand things to resent today, but the evidence that she had decided this without once discussing it with him was the last straw.

“Your decision, Duchess?” he asked.

“It is very simple. I have decided not to decide.”

“Excuse me for stating the obvious, but deciding not to decide is not a decision.”

Hawkin's perfect brow puckered. “He has a point there.”

“The implication is obvious, if you will only consider it. I will not decide. You will. Each of you, according to his conscience. There will be no word from me. There will be no block of twelve votes.”

The M.P.'s reacted with shock. Douglas's mouth gaped so wide that his tawny beard hit his chest.

Adrian stared in astonishment. She was throwing it away. She had accepted Everdon's power only to destroy it.

“There is something else that all of you should know,” she said. “Your votes will not affect your relationship with me in any way, no matter how you go. In the future, Everdon will no longer be nominating candidates and requiring its tenants to support them.”

Stunned amazement greeted this final surprise. It held for a solid minute while everyone absorbed the full implications.

Then chaos erupted.

The M.P.'s broke into noisy groups. One converged on the duchess to explain with strained politeness how this simply would not do. Adrian strolled over to the windows to contemplate the astounding development.

He was furious with her. Livid. Explaining this to Wellington would be nigh impossible. No man would understand why the duchess had just diminished a power carefully accumulated over generations. The Iron Duke would have apoplexy when he learned just how badly she had been managed.

He looked to where she calmly deflected the exhortations heaped on her. She had given them a freedom that they did not want.

Adrian realized that he did not want it either. He had been counting on her making a decision that he did not want to make himself. The choice would not really be his, and no one would really hold him responsible. His conscience would be clear, and his political future still bright.

Hawkins hustled over. “Hell of a thing. You brought her to the boroughs in May. Go explain how things work.”

“It appears that they will work differently now.”

“Easy for you to say. Stockton is a solid borough. I'm in a damnable situation. If I go with the bill, I vote to abolish my own seat.”

“Then vote against it.”

“Don't know if I can. She's gone and left it to me now, hasn't she? Changes things, doesn't it?”

It certainly did. Damn it.

“There are other boroughs.”

“Not for a Tory who sides with the opposition, nor is there much need for a Whig whose friends are all Tories.”

Adrian agreed. Solid borough or not, there was little political influence for an M.P. of those colors. She had put all of them in a hellish situation. Especially Adrian Burchard.

The crowd around her had gotten thicker. He strolled over and interrupted. “Gentlemen, it is clear that the duchess is resolved. May I suggest that we assess our squandered fortunes elsewhere.”

He exited the drawing room first but did not leave. After instructions to Charles to send his carriage down the square, he nipped up the staircase before anyone else got away.

His entrance into her sitting room sent the animals into throes of excitement. He wasn't in the mood to play. After greetings and scratches, he ordered the dogs, Camilla, and Prinny to their cages.

It took her a half hour to follow. She finally slipped in, catching him pacing with impatience.

“From your expression, I gather that we will not be falling into each other's arms,” she said. “I do not believe I have ever seen you so angry.”

“The hell of it is, I cannot decide which angers me more. Being summoned here like the lady's serf, or learning that I have been freed of my bondage.”

“You were not summoned. The others were, but not you. If you had not been so stubborn, you would have known about the vote three nights ago. And my decision to cease nominations. And about the rest.”