To Marry The Duke (18 page)

She turned left where she thought she should, then found herself stopping in yet another unfamiliar corridor, feeling quite decidedly lost.

Sophia gathered her shawl around her shoulders and turned around to face the other way. This particular corridor was lined with massive portraits framed in fancy gilt. She tiptoed closer to one of them and held up her candles. The gold marker at the bottom labeled the man as the second Duke of Wentworth—a frightening-looking person who looked more like a warlord than an aristocrat. His eyes were dark, full of menace and rage and ugly hatred. She gazed uncomfortably at those eyes, remembering the night she had seen James for the first time…

She shook that memory away and turned back to her task of finding her way to his rooms, but passing a number of doors made her realize that she had no hope in heaven of knowing which one was his. They all looked alike. She would have to return to her own bedchamber.

A short time later, she was still wandering up and down corridors, searching for her rooms. She had never had a particularly impressive sense of direction, and she had obviously underestimated the size and complexity of this house—if one could call it that. James had once described London society as a labyrinth, but that was nothing compared to this.

Feeling defeated, she knew she was going to have to knock on someone’s door and ask for assistance. Every door she knocked on, however, found no reply, and when she tried to open them to see what was inside, they were all locked. They must be guest rooms, she surmised. The servants likely kept them closed off when they weren’t in use, to prevent having to clean them.

Sophia came to a baize door studded with brass nails at the end of a hall, and pushed through it. She entered into a much narrower hall that smelled of stale cabbage and creaked from squeaky floors. The servants’ wing. Thank goodness. She had dreaded the thought of waking her mother-in-law to tell her that she was lost. Sophia would have preferred wandering all night to the humiliation of that.

She quickly discovered, however, that the servants’ wing was as vast and complicated as the rest of the house. She walked past a number of separate storage rooms.

She entered the servants’ hall—a large common room. Two massive tables filled its center, and she went to put her hand upon one of them, to touch the gouges and markings that came from years and years of use; these tables were probably more than a century old. She felt the fascination of the history all around her then, and remembered what James had said when he’d proposed—
You wanted to see it from inside the very heart of it. Come and be part of it
. Well, here she was, part of it, and all she felt was lonely detachment, as if she were still on the outside, an interloper who was not even able to find her way around it when she tried.

She felt a lump form in her throat, but refused to give in to it. She would not cry. She would go back to her room, forget about seeing James tonight, get a good night’s sleep, and start again tomorrow. She turned to leave, but bumped into a young maid who was hurrying into the room in her nightdress. Their candles clicked together, and both Sophia and the girl stepped back with gasps of surprise.

The girl curtsied. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace!”

Sophia tried to catch her breath. “It’s all right. I didn’t see you either. I’m just glad to have met someone.”

The girl’s lips were trembling as she backed up against the wall, as if to clear a path and make herself invisible. Sheer terror seemed to fix her to her spot.

Sophia took another step closer. “I’m wondering if you could help me.”

“Help you, Your Grace?”

“Yes, I’m lost.”

“Lost?” She contemplated that for a moment. “I should go and fetch the housekeeper.” She made a move to venture deeper into the servants’ wing.

Sophia stopped her. “No, please, don’t. I would prefer it if you would take me back to my room. There is no need to wake anyone.”

“But I’m a scullery maid.”

Sophia laughed. “That’s fine. All I need is someone who knows this house better than I do.”

The girl glanced up and down the hall. “I don’t want to lose my position, Your Grace. There are rules about—”

“You won’t lose your position. What is your name?”

“Lucy.” She curtsied again.

Sophia offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lucy.”

The girl stared at Sophia’s proffered hand like it was some foreign object, then finally offered her own with visible uncertainty. Sophia clasped it in hers; it was rough and scabbed.

“Good gracious,” Sophia said, bringing the candlelight closer so she could look at the girl’s chafed, red palm. “Your hand…”

The girl withdrew it. “It’s fine, Your Grace.”

“No, it’s not fine. How did this happen?”

“I scrub.”

“But…” Sophia did not know what to say. She still felt like a guest here and was inclined not to say anything, then she reminded herself that she was not a guest. She was in charge of this house, and if she felt that a servant was being treated unfairly, she would see to the situation.

“Where is your home, Lucy?”

“I live here, Your Grace.”

“No, I mean, where does your family live?”

“In the village.”

“Would you like to go and stay with them for a while?”

To Sophia’s dismay, Lucy began to cry. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace. I know I’m not supposed to be down here, but I forgot to clean something that Mrs. Dalrymple asked me to clean, and I only wanted to do my job the best I could. If you’ll only reconsider, I promise I won’t—”

“Oh, no, dear Lucy! I’m not dismissing you. I only wish to give you a holiday so that your hands have a chance to heal. You can think about it.” She guided Lucy toward the baize door. “Now, if you’ll just help me get back to my room, no one even has to know we bumped into each other tonight.”

Looking doubtful, Lucy went with her. As soon as they set foot in the main house, the young maid scurried along like a fast little mouse, as if she wanted to get back to her own room before she was caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing.

She found the correct door and opened it. Relieved, Sophia entered the room. Lucy stood in the open doorway. “Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, Lucy, that’s all. Thank you.”

Lucy curtsied and hurried away, and Sophia crawled into her cold bed, feeling not only displaced, but rejected. This was the first night since their wedding that she and James had not made love. She’d been forced to go searching for him in the dark, she had failed, and here she was—alone again in this ridiculously cold room.

Why had he not come? she wondered, snuggling down under the sheets embroidered with coronets, trying hard not to read too much into his absence, and more importantly, not to cry.

Chapter 15

Sophia said good morning to Marion and Lily, and sat down at the breakfast table. A footman set a boiled egg in front of her. “Thank you,” she said without thinking, then felt Marion’s gaze bore into her.

“There is no need for that here,” the woman said.

Sophia picked up her knife and tapped it against the eggshell. It was early and she’d barely slept a wink, her feet were still numb from being cold all night, and she was suddenly feeling quite depleted of patience when it came to being corrected at every turn. Marion had not said one nice thing to her yet, nor had she offered a smile or any kind of encouragement.

“No need for politeness?” she replied with a somewhat terse edge to her voice. She knew she would regret it later.

But oh, if felt good now.

Lily kept her gaze lowered the whole time.

Marion showed no reaction. She smoothed the table cloth beside her plate. “We have never thanked servants here.”

Sophia wanted to say, “Well maybe you should,” but held her tongue. She’d said enough. Her passions sometimes got away from her, and she could not afford to displease her mother-in-law, who was clearly having some trouble with this transition. Sophia was certain of it now. She would have to try harder to be understanding, and hope that things would soon get easier.

“Has James eaten yet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light and not show how heartbroken she had been over his failure to come to her the night before.

“James does not take breakfast with the rest of the family.”

Sophia swallowed a bite of her egg, hating that she had to press her mother-in-law for more information about the man who was supposed to be her life’s partner. “Where does he take it?”

After a long hesitation seemingly intended to torture Sophia, Marion replied, “In his own rooms.”

“He doesn’t usually share the luncheon table with us either,” Lily added helpfully.

Sophia continued to eat her breakfast, not wanting to ask any more questions, but she couldn’t help herself. “Will he be in his rooms now, do you think?”

Lily gave her a look of sympathy. “He’s not here. He left early and said he wouldn’t be back until dinner.”

Sophia dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and forced herself to sweep away all hopes of seeing James before then, for she did not think she could handle any more disappointments.

“Perhaps then, after breakfast, Lily, you could give me a tour of the house?”

“I would be delighted to.”

They finished eating in silence.

James mounted his horse and trotted out of the courtyard, listening to the pleasantly predictable sound of hooves crunching over gravel. Beyond the gate, a chilly mist hung in the air and floated motionlessly over the moors. It was just like the fog of incomprehension inside his head. He urged his horse into a gallop.

He needed to decide how he was going to handle this marriage, for last night had been troublesome. No, not troublesome. It had been utterly chaotic—and he loathed chaos. He had climbed out of his bed at least a dozen times to go and see Sophia, gone to his door and opened it, then each time, he’d halted and stuffed himself back into his own bed, determined not to get out of it again. For fear had held him back.

Fear of what? he asked himself with some irritation, urging his horse to gallop faster.

He despised fear.

He was not accustomed to it.

Well, he had been once. A lifetime ago.

The animal jumped a low stone wall and landed smoothly.

Was it fear of his wife? No, that was not it. It was fear of the inevitable—that he would fall so deeply in love with her, he would lose his sense of reason. Perhaps he had already lost it. He’d certainly felt like it in Italy. He’d become obsessed with seeking pleasure with his new wife, whether they were making love or merely laughing and throwing pillows at each other in the nude.

She had satisfied his every desire, entertained him, soothed him, and he’d let himself enjoy her, for it did not seem like his real life. He’d felt like a different person in a foreign country with a foreign bride.

Now they were back on the foggy moors of Yorkshire.

People’s accents were familiar again.

His bed felt the same as it always had.

The honeymoon was over, and this was reality. It was time to remember who he was and what his intentions had been when he’d decided to marry Sophia— for they had been humane, responsible intentions, he reminded himself. Well thought out for the good of everyone involved, including his wife and his unborn children.

When he’d proposed, he had been confident in his ability to resist his base nature and see that any child born of this marriage never witnessed or suffered what he had witnessed and suffered as a child. In order to create the kind of tame, peaceable environment that had been absent from Wentworth for centuries, he knew he would have to keep his distance. He could not act selfishly and risk falling back into the pattern his forebears had set, merely to fulfill his own personal avaricious lust for his duchess.

He steered his mount across a sloping dale and decided that he would limit his visits to her room—at least for a while until he could curb the passion between them and establish a more practical arrangement. He would try to focus more on his duty and his dukedom, for those were his reasons for marrying Sophia in the first place.

For the sake of his future children, he could not afford to forget that.

* * *

James had not returned home in time for dinner. Sophia was forced to sit through yet another agonizing meal in an ice-cold dining room where no one said a word, and even the clinking of silverware seemed to be a
faux pas
—for it echoed off the stone walls, high up into the ceiling.

Now, Sophia was again climbing into her cold, empty bed, feeling unpleasantly skeptical about whether or not she would see her husband tonight either. And she really needed to see him.

She waited for a little while, and when there was no knock at her door, her hurt transformed to anger.

Surely James must know that this was a difficult time for her. That his mother was not the warmest of individuals. Surely he must know that his new wife would need some support and guidance, and that she would be missing her own beloved family and might benefit from a simple word of affection.

Her dander was flying now. Even if he didn’t realize these things, wasn’t he at least longing for her sexually as she was longing for him? Was he not counting the minutes until they could make love again? Her body was positively burning for him. All day long she had not been certain she could survive another minute of it.

Well, tonight, she would know the way to his rooms. Lily had given her a thorough tour, and Sophia had made sure she took note of everything.

She scrambled out of bed, pulled on her shawl, and picked up her candles.

A few minutes later, she was knocking at her husband’s door. “Enter,” she heard from inside.

So, you’re here.

She pushed the door open to find him sitting in front of a roaring fire, an oil lamp shining brightly onto a book on his lap. The sight of him there sent a painful surge of heartache through her. Did he prefer reading that book over a night of fun and games with his wife?

“You’re here,” she said, with every intention of sounding surprised.

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

She moved into the room, taking note of the fact that he had not invited her here, nor had he risen from his chair to greet her or even closed his book, for that matter.

“I don’t know. You didn’t join us for dinner. I thought you must have had duties to attend to somewhere.”

Finally, he did close his book. “Yes, there are always duties.”

He said no more than that, and it pained her that he was being so vague and dispassionate with her. She had expected—after their time apart in the last twenty-four hours—that there would be an ardent dash into each other’s arms. She had expected him to pick her up and twirl her and kiss her deeply and tell her he couldn’t bear another moment away from her.

Sophia swallowed nervously and tried to communicate to him what was bothering her. “I thought you might come to my room last night.”

He was quiet a moment. “It was a busy day.”

“I know that, but I would have liked to see you. I had so many questions to ask.”

“You wish to know something? Feel free.” He spread his hands wide. “Ask away.”

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember any of the questions she’d had during the day. All she could think of now was her heartbreaking confusion over his conspicuous emotional retreat.

When she asked no question, he set his book down and stood. “Perhaps you could ask Mildred if you need to know something. She is your maid, after all.”

“Mildred’s not the most talkative woman in the world.” Sophia did her best to keep her tone light.

“Maybe not, but it is her duty to meet all your personal needs. If you ask her a question, she is required to give you a straight answer.”

“I don’t want straight answers,” she told him directly. “I want you to come to my room and make love to me.”

He slowly blinked.

Sophia suddenly remembered where she was, and what she was supposed to be—an English duchess. “I don’t mean to be quite so forward. I know it’s not how a duchess should speak.”

James’s eyes grew steely. “You seem to be referring to your marital duties. I thought we discussed this on the way back from Rome.”

“Discussed what?”

“You told me that your monthly had arrived, and according to that, you would not conceive now anyway. There is no point in my coming to see you for at least a week, and certainly no point in making love.”

His shocking assertion hit her full force. She crossed the room to stand before him. “You’re not serious.”

“You seem surprised.”

“What are you telling me? That you don’t even want to see me? That you didn’t enjoy making love to me? That you only did it to produce a child?”

A muscle twitched at his jaw. “Of course I enjoyed it. You’ve been perfectly dutiful, Sophia. I am more than pleased. You can have some time to yourself now. It might be a good thing, for both of us.”