Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Five

O ver the past week Sophia had visited her modiste twice and taken possession of some rather lovely new gowns. She was wearing one now, a dark-blue silk with long sleeves and the currently fashionably short bodice that was designed to show rather a lot of bosom. She had considered using a chemisette for a more modest look, but decided her charms might be a useful distraction while she questioned Oldney’s friends.

Some cautious inquiries had revealed that Oldney’s friends were to be found at Hettie Devenish’s gambling establishment most nights of the week.

She had ordered the coach to her front door and was about to descend the steps to the driveway when suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadows in front of her. She wore no cloak and no bonnet, and the wind whipping around the square was not kind this evening. Sophia’s first thought was that the poor thing must be frozen.

“Your Grace?”

Startled, Sophia stared down into a face that, in the shadows thrown by the flaring torch in its sconce, looked worn and weary. A gust of wind made the flame flare, and the woman startled, eyes wide. Where had she come from? Had she been hiding here in the shrubs until Sophia appeared? And more importantly, what on earth was she doing here?

Sophia asked cooly, “Who are you? I do not have time to speak now, I have an engagement to attend.”

It was the sort of tone that usually sent people scurrying, but the woman did not move, as if she had built herself up for this moment and was determined to see it through.

“No, you do not know me. My name is Marianne. I am... I was your husband’s mistress.”

Sophia was momentarily speechless. She had known there must be other women—men like Oldney always had other women. She had been relieved that she had never heard anything of them and could therefore pretend they did not exist, more from a sense of humiliation than because she cared that Oldney was sharing his favors. She was still his wife, his duchess, and therefore she deserved at least that much consideration.

“Congratulations,” she said stiffly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must go.”

The woman, Marianne, did not move. “I am very sorry to burden you with my troubles, but since Oldney died I have been barely surviving. And the child needs food and shelter. I wondered... I hoped that perhaps you would find it in your heart...”

Was this actually happening? Sophia had never heard of such a thing. She was certain no one who knew her and called her “ice queen” would ever think her a soft touch. She opened her mouth to tell Marianne to leave and instead heard herself say, “What child?”

Marianne visibly swallowed and lifted her chin higher. She was standing on the step below Sophia and seemed small because of it. Her arms were covered in a thin, long-sleeved spencer and her hands were without gloves. She must be very cold. Hadn’t Oldney made provision for the woman? Although because his death had been sudden, Sophia thought he may not have had the chance.

She reminded herself that it was most definitely not her problem.

“He is eight,” Marianne answered with a hitch in her voice. “His name is Hugo.”

Sophia blinked. “That was Oldney’s father.”

“Yes. He asked for the child to be called after his father. He thought it a fine jest, but I did not mind. I was glad to please him. He was not, as you must know, Your Grace, an easy man to please.”

He wasn’t, but Sophia was damned if she was going to discuss him with this woman as if they were cozying up for a good gossip about her husband.

Behind her in the doorway, her butler spoke. “Madam? Is this person being a nuisance?”

Marianne jumped at the sound of his voice, and looked about her anxiously, as if afraid she was about to be seized and thrown out into the street. And that was exactly what would happen in most cases of this sort. That was what should happen now.

But suddenly Sophia felt a wave of weariness wash over her. She had been a widow for a year, alone in this big, empty house, and this woman looked half starved. What did it matter? Who cared if she offered her husband’s mistress some small assistance? The gossips could say what they liked—they always had—and Sophia was tired of trying to please the ton . When Oldney was alive it had mattered. He would have made her pay if she’d ever caused the wrong sort of scandal. But now it did not.

“No, Webster, she is not a nuisance. In fact, I would like you to ask for a room to be prepared for her, and a hot meal.”

She could see Webster stiffen in outrage. “Your Grace,” he blustered, “I do not think...”

Sophia ignored him. It was Marianne’s expression that held her attention now. Tears gleamed in the woman’s eyes and her lips wobbled as if she was fighting to hold herself together.

“Your Grace . . .” she gasped.

“Where is your son?” Sophia asked sharply, wondering if the poor child was hidden in the bushes somewhere.

“With a friend,” Marianne watched her as she said it, as if she didn’t expect Sophia’s largesse to extend as far as the child.

“Then you must collect him in the morning and bring him here.”

“Your Grace!” Webster sounded outraged.

Sophia tried not to smile. It felt rather gratifying to have rattled her indefatigable butler into displaying some genuine emotion. “I have given you my instructions,” she said, turning to him, “and now I must go. I will discuss anything further tomorrow, Webster. Is that understood?”

The butler seemed at a loss for words. Marianne was not.

“Thank you, Your—Your Grace,” she said, her voice shaking. “I cannot... I wish I could... I am so grateful to you.”

“Yes, well, we shall discuss that tomorrow, too.”

And Sophia sailed past her and down the steps to the coach. Like Marianne, she felt shaken. Oldney’s mistress, for goodness’ sake! But she felt something else, too. Those same feelings she had experienced when she had agreed to help Nicholas Blake’s friend. A warm flush of pleasure, a sense of the rightness of her action. Was this how do-gooders felt when they went about their charitable work?

She hoped it would not become addictive.