Yes, she could like Ralph Thorne very well and she could make him a good wife she was certain. She really must stop thinking about dukes and certainly in the same breath as marriage. He, the singular duke in question, was married of course, for she did not believe for a moment that he was openly acknowledging a love-child by raising her in his London house. Gentlemen simply did not do such things.
And besides, even if he had been a bachelor, he was not for her, however much those silver eyes seemed to speak to her of shared knowledge, of shared awareness. It did not matter that she had seen him exhibit courage and physical prowess and the grace to smile and comfort a small child when he was in great pain. And she most certainly should not be thinking about those long legs and broad shoulders and muscled thighs, not when she was talking to a gentleman who, though no weakling, was not such an impressive physical specimen.
It made her just as bad as those men who chatted at a reception while keeping one eye open for someone of more interest. Superficial, rude, unladylike, Sophie chided herself. She must not become hard and cynical and calculating because one man had taught her that love could not be trusted. She smiled more warmly at Mr Thorne and reminded herself that the Duke had flirted with her, which under the circumstances was quite beyond the pale.
‘I do hope your cousin is somewhat recovered today,’ she said, then almost bit her tongue. What was she doing? She’d had no intention of mentioning him at all.
‘Calderbrook?’ Ralph said. The tea slopped into the saucer. He muttered something under his breath and put down the cup on a side table. ‘He is unwell?’ That was very sharp indeed.
‘He rescued a little girl from being trampled in the park yesterday. She ran in front of my horse and he dived to save her. He dislocated his shoulder, I fear.’
Ralph winced. ‘Painful. Did you… It was an accident you say?’
‘Why yes, of course. How could it be anything else? I was driving my phaeton up that rise in Green Park rather too fast, the child ran out and the Duke snatched her up safely.’ His face was unreadable now, a polite blank. ‘Why should it not be an accident?’
‘No reason at all,’ he said, with a smile and a shrug. ‘I am doubtless too protective. My cousin comes back to us after years abroad, safe and sound and twice th
e man he was and it would be a tragedy if he met with some danger here.’
It would have been a tragedy anywhere. What an odd thing to say. And danger? A prickle of apprehension touched the nape of her neck. ‘It must have been very difficult, him being away for so long.’ Now they were launched on the theme she could not seem to let it go. Dare she ask about his wife? Where had she been at the ball the other night? Resting, perhaps while her husband prowled about agitating young ladies.
‘Difficult? Yes it was certainly that. Oh, my cousin left the estate properly looked after and he kept in constant contact with his secretary and man of affairs. And he kept us fully informed about where he had been, as you know. I could never fault him for neglecting his duties. And we knew he was well – at least, that he was at the moment he had sealed the most recent letter, which was sometimes months before.’
‘Rather like having a family member in the navy or the East India Company or perhaps running estates in the West Indies?’ she suggested. Ralph’s reaction did seem rather extreme, more like that of a sensitive sister than an adult male cousin.
‘Yes, of course. We were not alone in having that sort of concern always at the back of – ’ He broke off, staring at the door.
‘His Grace the Duke of Calderbrook, my lady.’ The footman stood back for Cal who went directly to his hostess.
‘Lady Elmham.’ He was in immaculate biscuit-coloured pantaloons, Hessians with silver tassels, dark blue swallowtail coat and crisp white linen, a stark contrast against the black sling that supported his right arm.
Sophie had told her mother about the accident and how she had taken Cal to the doctor and then home. Even if she had been alone and without a groom to witness everything, she did not deceive her parents, not any longer.
‘Good afternoon, Your Grace.’ Her mother rose and shook hands without revealing for a moment that she had noticed the sling, let alone that she knew the circumstances of the injury. ‘Who may I make known to you? Lord and Lady Philpott. Mr and Mrs Wigton and Miss Wigton. Mr Parsloe. Lady Penelope Harrington.’ There was a round of handshaking before the duke took a chair beside Sophie. ‘And of course your cousin and my daughter you know. Sophie dear, a cup of tea for the Duke.’
‘Of course. Good afternoon, Your Grace. Milk or lemon?’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Wilmott, Cousin. Lemon, if you please.’
She passed the cup, waited while he stirred the tea and returned the spoon to the saucer and the other guests had recalled themselves and resumed their conversations. In for a penny, in for a pound. It was ridiculous to edge around the subject, speculating. ‘The Duchess does not accompany you?’ Sophie enquired. On her other side Ralph drew in a sharp breath.
‘I am a widower,’ Cal replied.
‘Oh.’ Oh, good. Oh… how truly awful of me. ‘I do apologise.’ Were her quite dreadful thoughts written right across her face?
‘For leaping to conclusions? Did you think me a wicked rake?’
From the corner of her eye Sophie saw Ralph draw himself up in his chair as though to spring to her defence. ‘Of course,’ she said with a laugh. ‘A quite outrageous flirt, Duke.’ As she hoped, Ralph relaxed a trifle as though believing that this was merely a jest. ‘Do you plan a long stay in London, or are you en route for Calderbrook?’
‘I thought to finish the Season here, outfit myself, and then go to Calderbrook in July.’
‘I would have thought that after all this time you would not be able to keep away,’ Ralph said. Was it her imagination or was his tone judgmental?
‘I can restrain my desire to walk my ancestral acres quite easily,’ Cal said, taking a macaron from the plate Sophie offered. She had the ridiculous sensation that she was flinging herself between the two men when, really, not a word had been said out of place. ‘After all, they do not hold the same charms of familiarity for me as they do for you, Cousin.’ He bit down on the sweetmeat and she gave a little shiver.
Ralph put down his empty tea cup with a snap.
‘Some more tea, Mr Thorne?’ Try as she might, her voice sounded strained to her own ears. It would be Ralph’s third cup and he was already ten minutes past the half-hour’s stay that, by custom, morning calls were limited to. Across the room the Wigtons, who had arrived after him, were getting to their feet and making their farewells.