Page 43 of To Woo and to Wed
Sophie had a wild thought that West would be very irritated if his father kidnapped his alleged fiancée, but that was her only thought before an impeccably liveried footman was handing her into the carriage, the duke on her heels. The door shut firmly behind him, and Sophie sat opposite the duke in silence for a moment, trying not to notice how exceptionally comfortable the cushioned bench in this carriage was. West’s carriage was the most luxurious she had ever ridden in, but his father’s was something else entirely, as though there were a special design reserved only for dukes. There might well be, she reflected with amusement. After all, when one had pockets as deep as the Duke of Dovington’s, there was little that was out of reach.
“I cannot express how surprised I am to find myself, once again, contemplating the possibility of you becoming my son’s wife,” the duke said after a moment. He was gazing steadily at Sophie; he resembled both of his sons quite strongly, though his eyes were brown, not green. She wondered idly if they got their eyes from their mother; she realized that she’d never seen a portrait of the late duchess.
“And you’ve come to offer your felicitations?” Sophie askedsweetly, all innocent surprise. “That isverykind of you, Your Grace—particularly when we just saw each other in the park!”
The duke’s mouth did not budge a centimeter, but there was a slight deepening in the lines at the corners of his eyes that indicated that perhaps—justperhaps—he was amused.
“Something along those lines,” he said, very dry. “I trust your memory has not begun to fail you at the advanced age of—how old are you, precisely?”
“I am shocked you ever convinced a woman to marry you, if you traipse about inquiring as to ladies’ ages on a routine basis,” she shot back.
“The ducal title does go a long way toward smoothing any rough edges in my manners.”
Sophie permitted herself a brief internal eye roll; this man, like his son,hadno rough edges—everything about him was polished. Born to the highest echelons of society, he had never, not for one single moment, questioned his right to belong there. He had never questionedanythingabout his life, or his beliefs, which was why he had felt perfectly comfortable preventing the marriage of one of his sons, and neatly arranging the marriage of the other (unbeknownst, at least initially, to both bride and groom in that particular union). He moved about the world,hisworld, like a queen on a chessboard, and arranged the pieces around him like pawns until it all lined up as he wished.
“I’m younger than both of your sons,” she said evenly. “What is your point?”
“In that case, I cannot imagine that your memory has begun failing you so badly that you have neglected to recall a conversation you and I had cause to share at an uncivilized hour of the morning seven years ago.”
Sophie took a deep breath; she knew that the duke was attempting to stoke her temper, but she was determined not to lose her composure. She did not care what he thought of her for her own sake—she knew that her family was too common for him, that in his eyes the daughter of a viscount with a title as new as her father’s would never be fit for the heir to an ancient family, and she was entirely unbothered by this fact—but she had a moment of fierce determination not to make anything about West’s life, and his relationship with his father, more difficult than it already was. She did not want the duke’s approval for herself, but for him.
“Your son is an adult perfectly capable of making up his own mind,” she said. “I suggest that if you have an issue with his choice of bride, you take it up with him.”
“I tried to, all those years ago,” he said. “He was uninterested in my opinion. He was young and foolish and wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“He is one-and-thirty now,” she said, idly examining her gloves, feigning an ease that she did not remotely feel. “Perhaps he will be more open to hearing your thoughts.”
The duke’s single, skeptical “hmm” informed her how likely he thought this turn of events to be. “He is peculiarly stubborn where you are concerned,” he said, sounding vaguely put out at this mystifying weakness on his son’s part. “I do not believe he will listen to reason, which is why I must turn to you instead, in the hopes that you will.” His tone turned brisk, businesslike. “My promise to you of seven years ago stands: If you marry my son, then the day after the wedding I will be in my solicitor’s office, arranging for the sale of Rosemere.”
“You would make him miserable, then,” Sophie said, “solely to punish him for disregarding your wishes?”
“There is nothing I would not do to protect the good name of myfamily, Lady Fitzwilliam.” He lifted his walking stick—one that, unlike West’s, was purely ornamental—and tapped the roof of the carriage; a moment later, the door was opened by a footman. “Thank you for your time,” the duke added, nodding at the door, a clear dismissal. “I hope I’ve given you much to think on.”
Sophie gritted her teeth and offered him her most charming smile. “It is always so nice to spend time with family…Papa.”
She took her time slowly exiting the carriage—all the better to relish the look of horror that she had caused to flicker across the duke’s face—and made her way back into Hookham’s, searching for her friends. She found Violet and Jane engaged in a whispered debate, one that they broke off as soon as they caught sight of her, twin expressions of relief crossing their faces.
“Is everything all right?” Sophie asked cautiously.
“We were debating the merits of storming the duke’s carriage to liberate you,” Violet said matter-of-factly. “Honestly, I think doing so might have caused him to stop acknowledging my existence whatsoever, and I can’t tell you what an improvement that would be.”
“No liberation necessary,” Sophie said, gesturing at her un-imprisoned self. “He merely wanted to discuss my betrothal.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Violet said darkly, with a grim edge to her voice born of long experience with all the ways the Duke of Dovington could make his sons’ lives a misery. “You’re not going to let him scare you off, are you?” she added, a certain canny light suddenly evident in her gaze that Sophie did not entirely understand.
“Of course not,” she said a bit carelessly, distracted as she was by an entirely unfamiliar trickle of anger that was slowly making its way through her. Howdarethis man try toonce againthreaten her—threaten West! She imagined the look on his face as he sat in the backof a church, watching her exchange wedding vows with his son, and she liked it quite a bit.
Too much, given that she was notactuallygoing to marry West, and it felt far too dangerous a thing to contemplate, rather like Icarus flying too close to the sun. In truth, she realized in a rush, the prospect of marrying West—of loving him, of trusting him with her heart, of risking further heartbreak for him…
It frightened her.
And she did not like that. It made her feel rather… ashamed.
And she, who had been so frustrated by the realization that West was allowing his father to govern his behavior, suddenly felt less certain. Because her behavior was governed by fear—and she found little to admire in that, either.
And she did not know how to mend this, for either of them.
She blew out a breath in frustration, and smiled brightly at Violet and Jane. “Shall we go sign out our books?”
