Kasey Michaels (6 page)

Sophie sat cross-legged in the middle of the high, wide bed, fresh from her bath, dressed in new undergarments and wrapped in a warm dressing gown. She watched as Desiree busied herself loading clothing into cupboards. The Frenchwoman moved more slowly now, much more slowly than when she had been younger, and less devoted to her pastries. But she was still all bustle and business, her graying blond hair pulled back tightly in a bun and covered by a mobcap she’d considered to be “maidlike,” her expensive yet simple silk gown covered by a massive white apron she’d commandeered from the cook left behind in Wimbledon.

Sophie had offered to help settle them in, but Desiree had declined. She was happy to be occupied and definitely did not believe Sophie could so much as place a night rail in a drawer without wrinkling it beyond hope of rescue.

“He’s nothing like Uncle Cesse except in his looks,” Sophie said now in answer to Desiree’s questions concerning the ninth duke. “So sober. So staid. But more than passably pretty on the eyes, if that is what you’re wondering.” She grabbed on to her crossed ankles and began slowly rocking on the bed. “I believe he thinks me to be the Devil incarnate. In fact, he all but said so.”

Desiree eyed her carefully. “You didn’t lose your temper with him, did you,
chérie
? Conk him on the head with something heavy?”

“I was everything you wanted me to be, Desiree, a patterncard of propriety. Polite to a fault, and overwhelmingly ingratiating. Although there were a few moments when I did wonder how much the compleat gentleman His Grace would look with a flowerpot dumped over his head.”

“I see. But you did as I instructed? You remembered to tell him not to fall in love with you,
oui
? You warned him that you were raised to be irresistible? You explained why we are here? Left nothing out?”

“Yes, Desiree, I did everything we’d decided, everything we’ve discussed—except for our deceit in writing the letter, of course. He took it all quite well, considering. I shouldn’t want to hurt Uncle Cesse’s son, even as I have not caviled at using the man so shamelessly in order to enter Society. At least now he has been warned, and I shall be spared any declarations of undying love from that quarter. But, oh my, how he did
look
! He was interested, even if he refuses to admit it to himself, even if he believes he detests me. He’s fortunate he’s off-limits.”

“Ha! There is no reason to set your sights lower than a duke. Your
maman
got herself a duke,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Sophie sighed, pushing back a curl that had fallen forward onto her cheek. “I know, Desiree, I know. But there are other dukes, surely. Besides, first I want to enjoy myself. Because that’s what this is all about,
n’est-ce pas
?” she ended, grinning.

“
Oui
, my pet, life it is to be enjoyed, as you say. And love is a cheat.”

“I know, Desiree,” Sophie said, suddenly serious. “I know. Never fear. I’m my mother’s child, but I am also your student. I won’t make
that
mistake! Now, where is Giuseppe?”

Desiree stopped in the act of picking up a pair of half boots and turned in a full circle, peering into every corner of the large bedchamber. “Giuseppe? He is not here?”

Sophie bit her bottom lip. “No, Desiree,” she said, dragging out the two words, “Giuseppe is not here. I had charge of Ignatius, remember? And you had charge of Giuseppe.”

“No,
chérie
, I had charge of the drowsy Mrs. Farraday,” Desiree countered, dropping the half boots onto the chest at the bottom of the bed and jamming her fists against her hips. “Now where do you suppose—”

Both women looked to the door to the hallway as a female shriek sliced through the air. “Giuseppe!” they both exclaimed, racing toward the door, pulling it open, and turning to their left, to head in the direction of the continuing shrieks.

They were met by the duke just outside the last door before the hallway widened. Stepping back, Sophie watched as Bramwell Seaton pounded a single time on the door, calling out, “Aunt Gwendolyn! What is it?” before throwing open the door and racing inside.

“We should follow him, yes?” Sophie asked her friend, dread filling her heart.

“You should follow him,
oui
.” Desiree shrugged, much more eloquently than Sophie ever could. “I am but the maid,
mademoiselle
,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “The maid who warned her headstrong mistress to leave the so-mischievous Giuseppe in Wimbledon. Now, I have the unpacking to finish. You can just go be charming.”

“Wretch!” Sophie aimed the word at Desiree’s swiftly departing back as a mobcapped maid ran shrieking from the room. Sophie squared her shoulders and entered the bedchamber just as its occupant—Lady Gwendolyn was it?—let out yet another ear-piercing shriek.

“Yours, I imagine,” the duke said calmly, pointing to the bundle of brown fur dancing about on the chandelier in the center of the room.

Sophie sighed and smiled as she passed by him, then lifted a finger to scold her pet. “Giuseppe, shame on you! How many times must I tell you—no chandeliers! One of these days you’ll burn down the house.”

“Get it out! Get it out! Get it
out
!”

Looking to her right, Sophie spied the elderly lady just now plastered against the heavy mahogany headboard, her bare toes poking out beneath the hem of her rather lovely pink dressing gown. “Lady Gwendolyn?” she inquired, dropping into a flawless curtsy. “How delighted I am to make your acquaintance. I’m Sophie.”

The lady looked to Sophie and then to her nephew, her eyes still as wide, her expression remaining one of abject horror. “Get her out! Get her out! Get her
out
!”

Oh, dear. This wasn’t going well, now was it? Obviously the woman had made Constance’s acquaintance.

Deciding to deal with Giuseppe first, Sophie gave a single clap of her hands and held out her arms, knowing the monkey would leap into them, which he did. “Naughty baby,” she crooned, as the monkey wrapped its long arms around her throat, threatening to choke off her air. “And where’s your hat? You lost it again, didn’t you? Now you can’t tip it to the nice Lady Gwendolyn and show her just how sorry you are to have frightened her. Give her a smile, Giuseppe, and prove to her that you’re nothing but a big, bad baby. Perhaps then she will forgive you, yes?”

The monkey did as he was bid, pulling back his pale monkey lips and exposing two rows of very large, somewhat yellow teeth.

Lady Gwendolyn shrieked again, covering her eyes with her hands. “Bramwell!”

“No more party tricks, if you please, Miss Winstead,” the duke ordered from somewhere behind her. “Just take the animal and leave.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sophie said, dropping into another curtsy, one equally as charming, even with Giuseppe clinging to her neck. She looked, in fact, very much like a Gypsy child, clad in her white, heavy cotton dressing gown, her corkscrew curls full and faintly wild.

Although, if truth be told, she had given no thought as to what impression she might be giving the gentleman just now scowling down at her. Sophie’s mind was fully concentrated on Lady Gwendolyn, and on finding a way to that woman’s heart. “But if I might first apologize to your aunt? You see, I had Ignatius, and Desiree had Mrs. Farraday and, well, that left no one for Giuseppe. You can see how it happened, yes?”

“I can see my aunt cowering in her own bed, Miss Winstead, while a jungle creature swings from a very expensive chandelier. I can see, Miss Winstead, that my aunt, already overset by this intrusion into her bedchamber, has been further agitated by the sight of your face. What I can
see
, Miss Winstead, is that if you do not remove that animal and yourself from this same bedchamber in the next three seconds I shall be forced to remove you myself. Do you see
that
, Miss Winstead?”

Sophie’s hopeful smile faded. Her slim shoulders slumped. Her winsome eyes grew round and moist. Her full bottom lip began to tremble, then parted slightly, to let out the pitiful, soft, shuddering moan of a badly used child. She looked small, much younger than her actual years, and vulnerable. Definitely vulnerable, and easily crushed by the vehemence of the big, bad ogre who had so unjustly attacked her.

At least that’s how she hoped she appeared, and Lady Gwendolyn’s reaction proved her right. “Bramwell! How unaccustomedly severe you sound,” the dear lady exclaimed, sliding from the edge of the mattress, her feet unerringly landing inside a pair of pink-satin slippers as she made her way across the room. “Shame on you, Nephew. Can’t you see the girl is sorry? What else do you want from her? Next you’ll be calling for boiling pitch and thumbscrews, I suppose? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“
What?
” The duke’s head all but swiveled in a full circle on his shoulders as he whipped about to glare at his aunt. “Aunt, do you have any idea what you’re—oh, my God!”

He turned to stare daggers at Sophie, dropping into a low, fierce whisper, “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it, hadn’t been warned—and out of your own mouth! You’re being
dazzling
, Miss Winstead, aren’t you? Those tears are no more real than our new King’s tales of how he rode at the head of the troops at Waterloo!”

His upper lip curled into a most unlovely sneer. “You disgust me,” he ground out, then looked to his aunt, who was tipping her head as Giuseppe tipped his, the two of them eyeing each other up. “And you, too, Aunt!” he exploded before stomping out of the room.

“Well, that was certainly uncalled-for, and most ill-mannered,” Lady Gwendolyn said, watching her nephew go. “Please accept his apologies via me, and my own as well. It isn’t as if I’ve never before seen a monkey, or a Winstead for that matter. Why, as a matter of fact, I do believe Lord Upchurch once brought a monkey to Lady Sefton’s, years ago. Yes, I’m sure it was he. The cutest little thing, with a red cap perched on his—oh, look!” she exclaimed as Giuseppe jumped down from Sophie’s arms, dug under a skirted table, and came out with a bright red cap he quickly perched on his head.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie said, winking broadly at the now-congenial-looking old lady. “Giuseppe was given to me by Uncle Dickie. Lord Upchurch, that is.”

Lady Gwendolyn frowned for a moment, then her face lit in what only could be termed unholy glee. “Uncle Dickie? Oh, never say Lord Upchurch was one of your mama’s—well! If
that
isn’t delicious.” She took Sophie by the hand and led her to a small couch in front of the windows. “You know, my dear, I wasn’t very much for this arrangement when Bramwell told me of it this morning. But I now begin to see its advantages. And you’re just as beautiful as your mother. Mayhap even more so, and altogether more charming—probably because you don’t have your claws dug into my only brother. Oh, I believe this is going to be a most
interesting
Season. Yes, yes. Indeed I do!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie said, waiting for the older woman to sit down, then seating herself on the floor at her feet, the better to smile up at her. “Now, how shall we go about getting ourselves better acquainted? Perhaps if I told you of the time Uncle Dickie came to Wimbledon with the notion that
Maman
should ride up beside him, bare-breasted, on his way to the races at Ascot?”

“Bare-breasted! She never did!”

“Oh, madam, but she did!” Sophie replied, giggling. “And suffered the most painful burns from both the wind and sun for her folly. They never did make Ascot, which was a good thing, for Lady Upchurch had decided, last moment, to join her husband. Well, you can just
imagine
what a to-do that would have caused!”

Lady Gwendolyn rolled her eyes heavenward. “Julia seeing her husband roll into town with a bare-breasted Constance beside him? Yes, my dear, I most certainly can imagine it. Never met a woman so full of starch as Lady Upchurch, or one more deserving of any come
upp
ance, as it were. Next time I see her, all regal and condescending in her plumes and purple, why I imagine I shall secretly simply
dissolve
in mirth.”

Sophie leaned her cheek comfortably against Lady Gwendolyn’s knee, happy to forget her short, sharp flare of hastily concealed anger at the duke of Selbourne for behaving so badly a few moments ago, and over so silly a thing as a harmlessly mischievous Giuseppe. The man really wasn’t worth such an exertion of emotion on her part, she decided, although he certainly was handsome. Why, even when angry and frustrated, he was quite the most handsome man she’d ever seen. “Yes, my lady. We will have fun, won’t we?” she said, sighing as a strange, new contentment floated through her body, mingled with an even stranger excitement. “And isn’t that what it’s all about?”

A young Woman her name was Dull.

– John Bunyan

Chapter Three

N
ephew, be warned. I expect considerably more civil behavior from you at table this evening.

Bramwell crushed the unsigned note in his fist and threw it into the drawing-room fireplace, but not before noticing that his aunt had made use of his own personal stationery to pen her warning. Considering that he kept this stationery in a locked desk drawer in his study, he spared a moment to wonder if his favorite paperweight, a Spanish doubloon encased in a sphere of glass, remained where he’d seen it that morning.