To Marry The Duke (17 page)

Carefully unfolding it, she glanced at the fancy penmanship. Her anxious eyes fell to the bottom, to ascertain the name of the sender. Recognizing the signature, she felt as if her lungs were going to fail. A sick feeling moved through her body.

The letter had come from Paris. From Madame Genevieve La Roux.

Before the dowager could comprehend the idea of having to again protect her exalted place in the world—and the place of her son—she cursed her late husband with foul, loathsome words in her head, then fainted dead away in her chintz chair.

After a fortnight’s honeymoon in Rome, where they spent their days touring the city and viewing the antiquities, and their nights tangled in sheets and poetry and each other’s arms, the Duke and Duchess of Wentworth prepared to return to England. They did not make love that final night, however, for Sophia’s monthly had begun.

On this misty, cold, overcast day, they arrived at the Yorkshire train station to find it adorned with flags fluttering in the wind and triumphal arches of white carnations and English ivy shivering in the cold.

Sophia stepped off the train just as the whistle blew three times and a burst of steam hissed from the engine. A sudden gale came out of nowhere and she had to hold on to her hat.

James assisted her down to the red-carpeted platform, where a welcoming committee of local dignitaries had been awaiting their arrival. Included among them was the local mayor, dressed in his formal regalia.

Not knowing quite what to do or where to step, Sophia held tight to James’s steady arm.

They stood by the mayor, who gave a brief speech about history and tradition. A young girl, no more than four years old, brought a heavy bouquet of roses to Sophia, and curtsied.

A short time later, they stepped into their waiting coach. They drove through the village, waving at the tenants who had turned out with their pitchforks along the cobbled market square, to cheer and wave flags and welcome her and James home. Church bells pealed as they drove through. They began the journey to the castle.

The coach bumped and rattled along a muddy road. They drove into a cold damp fog and traveled over rolling moors and dales and past meandering stone walls. There was a bleak emptiness to the land, Sophia thought as she peered out the window into the mist. It was as if she were being driven to the farthest reaches of the earth.

Soon, they rounded a curve. James—who had been strangely quiet since they’d arrived in Yorkshire— leaned forward in his seat. He pointed to the north. “There it is.”

A rush of anticipation burst forth in Sophia’s heart as she stretched to see her new home. It would be the core and haven of her existence, where she would raise her children and be a loving wife to the man she adored. She promised herself she would be a charitable and devoted duchess for the good people of Yorkshire.

At last she ascertained a clear view of the estate. The castle loomed like a fortress at the top of a steep hill, beyond iron gates and a stout stone wall. What a giant dragon it Was in the distance, with crenellated parapets, battlement walks, and hexagonal belvedere towers. She reached nervously for James’s hand and squeezed it.

He squeezed hers in return, gave her a smile of encouragement, then turned his face the other way to look out the window.

A short time later, they reached the gates, which had already been cast open for them. At the gatehouse their coach came to a halt.

“Why are we stopping?” Sophia asked, watching a dozen or so men come darting toward them to unharness the team. It was all done in a matter of seconds, the gray horses were led away, and the men took hold of the poles to haul them the rest of the way. Sophia heard them grunt in unison as they pulled for the first time, to set the carriage in motion.

She laid a gloved hand upon her breast. “Goodness, James, is this really necessary? You needn’t do this to impress me. I’m quite impressed already.”

“It’s not to impress you, my dear. It’s tradition.”

Tradition
. She’d heard that word a great many times today.

They embarked upon the final leg of the journey—a steep, bumpy hill up to the house—and Sophia felt her muscles tense in sympathy for these men who were dragging the carriage like mules!

She glanced at James, who was looking in the other direction, unaffected by any of this, it seemed.

They finally reached the front door of the massive stone castle—solid and imposing—and upon a closer look, stained black in places where the weather had been unforgiving over the years. Sophia’s sense of wonder and awe began to recede. Apprehension took its place. London balls and drawing rooms and lace-trimmed parasols suddenly seemed a thousand miles away from here. Not that she wasn’t happy to be married to James, but the castle suddenly seemed less like a home and more like an old, Gothic museum—massive and sprawling and daunting. She suddenly understood the gossip about ghosts.

Would there be a cozy corner somewhere, for her and James? A place to be a close-knit family when their children were born?

The servants were lined up on the front steps, steely-faced and silent as the wind tugged at the girls’ caps and the men’s, lapels. They were all dressed the same: black uniforms and white aprons for the women, everyday black-and-white livery for the men. There was no cheering or flag-waving here. No generous, heartfelt gushing of welcomes or giggling chatter or warm hugs. Sophia felt very alone all of a sudden and out of her range of experience. She wished her sisters were with her.

They were not, however, and she would have to learn to get along without them. Without her mother. Without her father, who used to snap his fingers and with a laugh and a smile and a big bear hug make everything better.

James helped her down from the carriage, and she walked past the men who had hauled them up the hill. Discreetly, she glanced at one of them. His eyes were lowered, his chest was heaving—for he was out of breath for good reason. His face was covered in a shiny film of perspiration. Sophia wanted to thank him, but he would not meet her gaze, and her instincts warned her that it would not be appropriate. She felt another wave of wariness spread through her.

You’re just nervous
, she told herself.
You are about to meet your mother-in-law and see your new home, and you’re worried they won’t approve of you, and surely everyone else is nervous, too
.

James led her up the stone steps, between the rows of servants, none of whom offered the smallest welcoming smile. Even James seemed distant at this moment, avoiding her gaze, his expression serious. Sophia cleared her throat and stepped over the threshold.

Inside, more servants stood like soldiers in a straight line, to greet their new duchess. Sophia smiled at them, then her attention was arrested by the great hall around her. Her gaze traveled up giant Corinthian columns to a towering cathedral ceiling, the walls made of enormous blocks of gray stone. There was a chill in the air as her heels clicked over the stone floor. She took a breath and hesitated. Still holding her hand, James stopped to look back at her questioningly.

Just then, Sophia noticed a woman emerge from the shadows at the base of the staircase. She was clearly not a servant, for she was dressed differently, but the drab color of her gown and the lack of jewels made Sophia wonder if perhaps she was the housekeeper. Her face was thin and the angle of her jaw, hard.

The woman walked straight toward Sophia and curtsied before her. James said matter-of-factly, “May I present my mother, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she said with a smile, offering her hand. “Yes! It’s so nice to meet you at last! I hope you are feeling better.”

The woman rose from her curtsy, her expression edged with steel. Without responding to Sophia’s effervescent greeting, she simply said, “Welcome.”

James let go of Sophia’s hand and crossed the hall to stand beside an empty suit of armor.

A dark tension closed around Sophia’s heart, coupled with a sudden fear that she had made a terrible mistake. Poor sweet Cinderella came to mind. What was Sophia doing here in this spooky old castle with these unsmiling strangers? Where were her sisters and her mother now? Had they left the country? Were they on a ship bound for America yet?

She turned her head then, toward the other side of the hall, and saw James, standing beside that shiny suit of armor. Her prince. How handsome he was. She told herself that
he
was her hearth and home, and no matter what kind of house they lived in—whether they were rich or poor—her heart would forever be full of cheer because they were together.

Just then, Sophia heard the fast clicking of heels down the staircase, and she turned to see Lily scurrying down in a blue-and-white-striped dress. As soon as she reached the ground floor, she slowed to a more ladylike pace and approached Sophia.

Lily curtsied. “Welcome, Duchess.” She gifted Sophia with an extravagant, twinkling smile that sent a much-needed surge of relief through her. Lily wiped the smile away, however, as soon as she stepped back in view of her mother.

Sophia then understood the family dynamics at work here. All this cool detachment was for ceremony; her mother-in-law was a strict woman, but behind closed doors, perhaps she would be more relaxed. Perhaps everyone would. Surely, their true personalities would surface then, and Sophia over time would come to know and care for them in a deeper, more intimate way.

She was handed over to Mildred then, who was there at the front of the line, and the stout little woman escorted Sophia up the stairs to the ducal rooms.

When she reached the top, she glanced down over the railing to where James had been standing for one last look at his handsome face before she retired for the afternoon. She felt a ripple of disappointment, however, to discover that he was gone.

Chapter 14

Mere minutes after Sophia was shown to her rooms, the household—like a well-oiled machine— returned to its crank and turn, and she was left alone to take a much-needed and well-deserved nap. She had not been awake long, however, when the loud dinner gong sent its pompous call echoing off the stone walls of Wentworth Castle. Mildred had at least prepared her for it with a few simple words: “The family dresses formally for dinner, Your Grace. The dressing bell will ring at seven for dinner at eight.”

Sophia, dressed in one of her spectacular Worth gowns and the sparkling jewels her parents had given her as a wedding gift, pulled on her long gloves and ventured out into the hall behind Mildred who—just for today—would show Sophia to the drawing room, where the family would gather before entry to the dining room.

Sophia wished that James could have come to fetch her, but she supposed he must have had many duties to attend to, his first day back.

She entered the drawing room, and like a ghost, Mildred quietly disappeared. Sophia stood alone inside the great arched entry, staring at her mother-in-law, who wore a modest dark gown—long-sleeved and buttoned at the neck—without jewels. Sophia touched the large emerald displayed at her low, satin neckline embroidered with pearls, and felt suddenly that everything about her attire was all wrong. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said.

Her mother-in-law fired a shocked gaze at Sophia. “No, no, no. You are not to address me that way.”

Sophia felt a whoosh of nervous butterflies in her belly at having blundered before she had even fully entered the room. “I do apologize. How shall I address you?”

“You are the duchess now. You are no longer a social inferior. You may address me by my Christian name.”

Sophia cleared her throat. Should she say,
Good evening, Marion
, now? Or would that be redundant?

Marion turned away from her to the fireplace mantel, to move a small statue an inch to the left. Sophia decided it would be best to keep quiet.

Much to her relief, Lily entered the room. “Oh, Sophia, what a stunning gown.” Lily wore a dress not unlike her mother’s. “I do so admire your sense of style.”

“Thank you, Lily.”

“Are you well rested? I peeked in on you a couple of hours ago, but you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

If Lily could only have known how much her caring meant to Sophia.

She felt Marion’s hovering stare—looking on, judging. Sophia tried to tell herself that she was being overly sensitive. She felt inadequate only because she was not fully settled in or aware of her duties and responsibilities yet.

She considered what Marion had just said—
You are the duchess now
.

Perhaps there
was
some ill feeling, as she had feared there would be.

Awkwardly, Sophia cleared her throat again; she could feel her confidence draining away into the cracks in the stone floor, as if there were a great big leaking hole in her shoe. She watched her mother-in-law sit down regally on the sofa and gaze out the window, then tried to tell her herself that this would get easier in time.

She realized suddenly that if she had a farthing for every time she’d told herself that, she’d be able to put central heating in this cold stone house before the first snowfall.

James entered. Sophia’s whole being perked up at his arrival; her body returned to its natural rhythm, and her reason for being here suddenly made sense again. What power he had to make everything worthwhile.

He took her hand in his and kissed it. A titillating arousal sparked and exploded in Sophia’s veins.

“You are comfortable, I hope?” was all he said, and she nodded, then eagerly anticipated their lovemaking later, after the rest of the household retired.

At precisely eight o’clock, they all moved into the grand dining room and sat down at a massive oak table clothed in white. James sat at one end of the table; Sophia was instructed to sit at the other. She doubted she would be able to hear him if he called out for her to pass the salt.

Not that he would ask that—there were half a dozen servants here at his beck and call to do whatever he wished.

Then she noticed that she had her own silver salt and pepper shaker in front of her, and so did everyone else. How convenient: a self-contained place setting for each and every one. No one needed to ask anything of anyone else—except the nameless servants, of course.

Formally dressed footmen served them in the German fashion,
à la Russe
, and though the food was delicious, the conversation was nothing of the sort. Sophia quietly ate her soup, trying to fit in and do what everyone else did, but to do that was to not talk. She had to wrestle with her tongue to keep herself from asking all the questions she wanted to ask—like why Mildred had shaken her head disapprovingly when Sophia had asked the footman to light a fire, and why she could not have tea at five o’clock tonight when she’d asked, after having slept through the usual teatime at four.

She held her tongue and decided to ask James all these questions tonight, when they were alone.

How grateful she was for the pleasant anticipation of her private time with him later when the lights were out.

After dinner, when James rose from his chair to retire to his own rooms for the night, his mother requested a private meeting in his study. He instructed a servant to go and light the lamps, and a few minutes later, he and his mother were standing on opposite sides of his ancient, monstrous desk, facing each other.

“What is it, Mother?” he asked without ceremony.

The dowager cleared her throat. “I understand that the marriage settlement was quite substantial, and I would like to ask if I may have an increase in what has traditionally been the amount of my allowance.”

James knew his mother, and he knew this could not have been easy for her, for she did not like to ask anyone for anything.

“Of course. How much would you like?” He knew it was cruel to ask the amount, but at least he was agreeing.

She cleared her throat again. “Well, I would like to have a large lump sum I could draw from, rather than a number of smaller monthly sums. That would give me more freedom to spend—”

“Freedom. There’s a word I’ve never heard you use before. Has some of Sophia’s democratic fragrance rubbed off on you?”

It was cruel, he knew it, but he didn’t let himself regret it. If anyone should feel regret in this room, it was not he.

“How much?” he asked again.

“A thousand pounds would be very generous of you, James.”

For a long moment he stared at his mother. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so eager to spend their American riches. In fact, he’d had some doubt as to whether or not she would dare to soil her hands touching any of it.

“A thousand pounds? Martin’s not in trouble again, is he?” James asked, thinking of his younger brother, who had just returned to Eton.

“Of course not.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. “What does this concern, exactly?” he asked, probing.

“It is just the total of some unfortunate debts I have incurred over the past few years. Things, as you know, have been tight, and I did not want Lily to suffer.”

“I see.” James moved around the desk. He could tell by the pale color of his mother’s cheeks that this was extremely trying for her. He decided he’d tormented her enough. He moved behind the desk again and sat down. “All right, you have your thousand pounds.” He wrote out a note to her. She took it and stuffed it into her skirt pocket, then turned and left him alone to wonder what cause that money would serve.

Like most things, it would probably reveal itself to him in its own convenient time.

Sophia sat up in bed, waiting for her husband. It was eleven-thirty. Her candles were still burning on her dressing table, but her fire had gone out.

The room was getting chillier and chillier, so she decided to snuggle down under the covers to wait, rather than sit on top of them.

She pulled the coverlet up to her ears and realized her feet were like ice. She leaped out of bed to retrieve a pair of stockings from her dressing table and pulled them on, then leaped back into the bed. She wished James would hurry. Once he was here with her, he would certainly keep her warm.

It seemed like forever that she lay there, watching the door, sitting up whenever the house made knocking sounds or the wind rattled the window panes. Still, he did not come, and she was beginning to feel a bit frustrated. There was so much she wanted to tell him and ask him.

She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, it was two o’clock. He still had not come, and she began to think that perhaps he had accidentally fallen asleep, as she had just now. They’d had a busy day, after all, with their official arrival in the county, and who knew what other kinds of problems he’d come home to, after a fortnight away? Perhaps she could go to him instead.

She slipped out of bed, pulled a huge woolen shawl around her shoulders, and picked up the candelabra. She opened her door to find the corridor cloaked in darkness. There was no sign of anyone anywhere.

She padded down the hall. Mildred had pointed out James’s door to her when she’d first brought her upstairs, and Sophia was certain she would be able to find it again. It was down this hall, she thought, and then at the end, she would turn left and it would be at the end of the next hall, beyond the red saloon.

Good heavens, it was chilly out here in the corridor! Her candles were the only source of light, and as she moved quickly she heard the flames flicker and hiss against the air; she smelled the dripping candlewax. It all seemed so spooky and primitive. Like she’d stepped back into another century. Her own home in New York had all the modern conveniences—gaslights and very recently, electricity. She had central hot water heating and hot running water in a porcelain tub in her own private bathroom. Tonight, frail little maids had lugged jug after jug of water up from the kitchen to her room, and had spread towels on the floor around a tin tub they had dragged in. At that moment, the grandeur of her elevated rank hadn’t seemed quite so grand.

But that was not why she was here, she reminded herself. She was here because she loved James. If she could only find his room.