Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) (26 page)

“Don’t say it,” Vane warned.

Haden’s good humor dimmed. “Suit yourself. But you can’t stay here forever being miserable. I think if you would only talk to her—”

“I hope you choke on mistletoe,” Claxton growled.

He wasn’t trying to be funny. Mistletoe’s knobby thin branches would be exquisitely painful if thrust down one’s throat, and as an added benefit in his brother’s case, poisonous.

“Hmm. Mistletoe,” Haden mused. “Her Grace has two lovely sisters.”

“I’ll visit tomorrow, Claxton,” said Rabe.

“Don’t bother. I plan to be asleep.” Or drunk.

Haden and Rabe exchanged looks of exasperation. A moment later the door closed behind them. At last. Silence.

Damn, and the memory of Sophia’s beautiful face. He curled his fists and pressed them against his forehead, aching for her with such a sudden miserable intensity he—

A sudden rapping came on the door.

Damn it, Haden.
He waited for his footman to answer, but then remembered…he had no servants. The rapping continued unabated, driving a nail straight through his skull.

Unlocking the door, he bellowed, “Next time remember your key—”

A different face waited there. Vane snarled, for there on his doorstep stood Lord Havering, his eyes ablaze, as if prepared for battle.

“You and I are going to have a talk,” he said.

But puzzlingly…behind him stood Haden and Rabe.

They all, in a rush of tall hats, shoulders, and winter scarves, pushed past him into the vestibule. He considered walking straight out the door into the night without his coat or hat. He’d just keep walking until he could walk no more and spend the night, or maybe a month, at some anonymous inn.

But this was his house, and he wasn’t leaving. He firmly shut the door on the cold and proceeded to return from whence he had come. They all waited for him beneath the arched threshold of his study, doffing their hats, with expressions of grim-faced determination. He could only assume that Havering had been sent as Wolverton’s representative to present the terms for a separation and that his own blood relations had been recruited to bear witness and to intercede, as necessary, if Claxton did not take the proposed provisos well. No doubt Havering would
talk talk talk
and expect him to listen.

“Listen here, Claxton,” declared Havering, proving his point. “This nonsense between you and her Grace is going to stop right here, tonight.”

“It’s Lord Claxton to you,” Vane said, striding past. “And I don’t see that ‘this nonsense’ is any of your business.”

Of course Havering followed, practically riding on his back. “As the duchess’s friend, I’m making it my business. If Vinson were alive, he’d be here. But since he’s not, I am.”

“But you aren’t her brother, are you?” Vane snarled. “Are you happy now that our marriage has fallen apart? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been waiting in the wings all along for that to happen.”

He dropped into his desk chair and snatched up a stack of correspondence, which he pretended to peruse. He’d been gone for months and had so much catching up to do. Didn’t they realize he was busy?

The other man snatched the envelopes out of his hands and tossed them to the desk. “Nothing matters to me, but that Sophia is happy—and she loves you.”

Vane barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“I was there the night the two of you were introduced,” Havering said, his voice lowering to a low hush. “She was smitten from the first moment. After you, I never had a chance.”

“You never had a chance before that, Havering, from what I heard,” murmured Rabe, who walked slowly along the bookshelf, reading the spines. “Claxton, I can’t believe you still have these naughty books. How old were we when we purchased them in that back-alley shop? Thirteen?”

“Did someone say naughty books?” Haden inquired.

“They are right here.”

“What did you say?” Havering demanded.

“I told him where the books are.” Rabe pointed to the second shelf from the floor.

“Before that.”

“Before…oh. It’s just that I heard that Wolverton forbade you from marrying any of his granddaughters.”

Havering’s stance went rigid, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s a fine detail for you to throw out now when we’re supposed to be working together.” He clenched his teeth and growled, “Tell me, where did you hear that?”

Rabe merely shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if his words were the undisputed truth.

“If Sophia loves me,” Vane muttered, “she has a fine way of showing it.”

“Havering says she’s destroyed,” Haden interjected. “Her Grace told him you have every right to despise her, not just because of the damage to the house, but because of whatever happened in the moments before the fire.”

“She told you about that, did she?” he growled at Havering. Just the mental image of the two of them sitting alone and talking and Sophia confiding to another man about her unhappy marriage drove him half-mad.

“Not really,” Havering answered. “Whenever she gets to that part of the story, all she can do is cry.”

Vane closed his eyes, doing his best to shut down the onrush of emotion and his regrets. He’d never wanted to make her cry.

“So why did she leave?” he said. “When she ought to have stayed?”

“A fine question, coming from you,” Havering retorted.

“Gentlemen,” said Haden, who looked at his pocket watch. “I really have somewhere I need to be. If the two of you will excuse us, I would prefer a word alone with my brother.”

“I could use a drink,” gritted Havering, scowling at Claxton.

Rabe grinned. “Good thing I know where he keeps the liquor.”

Together the two men disappeared into the corridor.

When they were gone, Vane exhaled through his nose. “There is nothing you can say—”

“Of course not,” Haden snapped. “Not if you’re too obstinate to listen.”

“I’m not being obstinate,” he argued. “Things have just gone too far off course. I tried to win her back, and I failed. No doubt she’s already instructed Wolverton’s lawyers to draw up a formal proposal for our separation.”

“Oh, good. Then you can get on with the business of growing old and bitter and being just like him.”

What a low thing to say to him right now, but nothing he hadn’t already said to himself.

“Don’t bring our father into this.” Vane strode past his brother to flatten his palms against the surface of his desk.

“Vane, it is almost Christmas,” his brother said in a quiet voice. “Which hasn’t meant anything to me in a very long time. But those days we spent in Lacenfleet, however unintended, brought back such memories from when you and I were younger. When we were closer. We spent so many years apart I almost forgot I had a brother.”

Vane closed his eyes.

Haden continued. “Do you know I can’t remember her face anymore? I haven’t been able to for a very long time. But there, in Camellia House, I could almost see her again.”

“That’s not fair,” Vane said.

“I’m so very thankful you thought to put the letter she wrote to me in your coat pocket, so her final words to me were spared from the fire.” Haden rounded the desk and faced him squarely. “But you didn’t ask me about it. Don’t you want to know what her letter said?”

“I don’t know.” He straightened. “She didn’t write the letter to me.”

“She wrote that I must help you to forgive him.” His brother’s gray eyes shone in the lamplight. “And I think she’s right, you know. Perhaps it is as Mr. Garswood told you, that our father suffered that strike to his head, and the injury forever changed him. Vane, we’ve spent our entire lives hating him. Trying to beat him and to prove we were stronger. When really, what we need to do is forgive.”

Vane exhaled and closed his eyes.

Morosely, Sophia descended the staircase, having been forced by her mother to get out of her bed an hour before and dress for Christmas Eve, when all she wanted was to remain abed until she was an old woman, when hopefully, at last, she’d forget the reasons for her sadness.

She wore a gown of deep plum silk with ruched sleeves that were puffed and pleated at the shoulders. The garment had given her such joy during her fittings at the modiste’s shop. Everyone had marveled over the fine sheen of the fabric and declared the hue a perfect complement to her complexion. She might as well have worn sackcloth for all the joy the pretty dress gave her now. Daphne and Clarissa had made a fuss over her hair and tried to cheer her, until at last she had gently shooed them away.

Familiar voices, just around the corner from the lower landing, made her pause near the bottom of the stairs. She made out two figures in the dim lamplight.

“You’re still carrying that wilted thing around?” said Lady Dundalk a bit grumpily.

Beside her stood Sir Keyes, leaning on his cane, with a much decreased ball of mistletoe suspended from his hand.

“There’s one berry left,” he answered cheerfully. “I saved the best for last.”

“Who is the lucky young woman this time?” asked her ladyship drolly.

“Why, you, my dear.” Slowly he lifted the mistletoe above her head. “If you will have me.”

“Oh, Alfred,” she whispered softly, reaching up to pat her gloved hand against his cheek. “What took you so long?”

He bent and kissed on her lips, and the two embraced.

Moments later, Lady Margaretta found her sitting on the stairs. “Sophia, more tears?”

“Lady Dundalk—” Sophia choked. “Sir Keyes. It’s so wonderful that they have found each other.”

“Isn’t it?” A dreamy smile spread across her mother’s lips. “One never gets too old for love.”

“I’ll never have that.” Sophia sighed. “Someone to grow old with, who will love me until the end of our days.”

Her mother tilted her head and let out a low breath. Sophia’s heart shattered a fraction more. Of course her words wounded her mother, whose one true love had been taken from her.

“Oh, Mother. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. It’s just that I don’t deserve it. You did. You do!”

“I don’t believe you are undeserving, not for one moment.” Margaretta patted her back, as if Sophia was a small child crying over some disappointment. “Things aren’t irreparable with Claxton. The two of you just need to talk.”

“I can’t ever face him again.” Sophia shook her head and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Not after what I did. He showed me in every way that he loved me, and I just couldn’t let go of the past. In doing so, I betrayed him, Mother, in the most horrible way, and now I fear it’s too late.”

“That you feel that way means that you still care deeply for him,” her mother counseled sagely. “And dare I say, that you love him? Otherwise, hurting him wouldn’t hurt you so much. Now wipe your eyes, dear, and join us downstairs.”

Margaretta left her there. Moments later, after composing herself, Sophia peered into the drawing room. Sir Keyes and Lady Dundalk sat on a green velvet settee beside the fire conversing with her grandfather. At a nearby table, Daphne and Clarissa arranged apples, oranges, candy, and cookies that would later be placed on the tree. She continued to the dining room, where the table had been set for their Christmas Eve feast. Her grandmother’s crystal, silver plate, and porcelain gleamed atop the snowy-white tablecloths. Marvelous smells wafted down the hall from the direction of the kitchen.

The perfect Christmas! And yet the scene provided her with no comfort. Nothing would ever be perfect without Claxton at her side.

“Everyone,” exclaimed Daphne, rushing out from the drawing room. “There are waits at the door.”

Clarissa pushed their grandfather’s bath chair in the same direction. Wolverton, finding Sophia, winked. Lady Margaretta accompanied them, reaching to wrap a wool scarf around Wolverton’s shoulders.

Glancing back, she called, “Sophia, could you bring the oranges?”

Oranges, yes, which her mother always insisted on giving to carolers, being that they were so rare and she so loved the tradition. From the table in the corridor, she listlessly lifted the basket by its handle and followed everyone else to the front doors.

Arriving at the door, she hovered behind Daphne, but Clarissa elbowed her forward. There were four carolers, but she could see none of their faces. Only the back sides of their sheet music. Really, who didn’t know the words to Christmas carols? What was the world coming to?

“Ready?” she heard one of them murmur. “One, two, three.”

What followed was the worst cacophony of male voices she’d ever heard, no clear tune among them.

“…Snow!”

“On a sleigh!”

“Bells ringing.”

“Angels singing.”

The centermost caroler lifted his music suddenly. “Christmas Eve surprises! It is I!”

At realizing his identity, the air left her lungs. Lord Haden. Yes, she’d invited him, but no, she’d not expected him to come, given present circumstances. Certainly he had every bit a right to despise her as Claxton.

Clarissa laughed delightedly. “Lord Haden.”

Daphne giggled as well. Sophia couldn’t blame them. Next to Claxton, he was probably the most handsome man in London.

“And also
this man
!” Haden grabbed the music from the caroler beside him, revealing—

Lord Havering? Sophia blinked in shock. She wasn’t even aware that the two men knew each other, aside from being introduced the morning of her wedding to Claxton.

“So sorry for the deception.” Haden laughed. “We can’t sing, and we don’t really have sheets of music, and none of us could remember the words to any carols. We just wanted to be certain you’d open the door because some of us don’t have proper invitations.”

He swiped the sheet of paper from the third male caroler, who turned out to be Mr. Grisham, Claxton’s cousin. “This fellow in particular.”

“You’re all very welcome here,” her grandfather announced magnanimously.

The blood drained from Sophia’s face as she realized with a sudden dread certainty the identity of the very tall, broad-shouldered fourth caroler. Though he still held the sheet over his face, she would recognize those fingers anywhere and the square, masculine shapes of his fingernails. She’d studied the man with such intense fascination for four days, she’d probably be able to recognize his earlobe if necessary.