‘However ambitious a mother is for her son it is also her duty to raise him in the expectation that he makes his own way in the world within the sphere in which he finds himself,’ she said with dignity. ‘For Ralph to have succeeded as duke would require a tragedy to have happened and I am certain he never had any thought of such an eventuality.’
But he had, or, his father had. And beside her Lady Peter was looking at her husband, her expression unreadable. Lord Peter? Ambitious for himself and Ralph, or only for his son? A man who would sacrifice his own honour and duty to see his son a duke? She did not believe for a moment now that the woman at her side had tried to poison her nephew by marriage, and she rather thought that Lady Peter’s initial chilliness towards herself was due to suspicion that no woman was good enough for Cal. But something disturbed her inner peace, something made her suspicious of her husband’s intent, even though Sophie doubted she had ever articulated those fears to herself.
‘Dinner is served, my lady.’
Lady Peter pulled herself up as though startled out of thoughts that were a long way away, but she rose to her feet and supervised the ordering of her guests with calm authority. She had apparently decided on some informality for this second dinner and the long table had been split into three and another round table added to the vast dining room. The pairings to go into dinner had been changed, with less attention to the rank of guests and more to introducing those who had been separated the night before.
Sophie found herself with Toby to her left and Lord Faversham, Christobel’s husband on her right, at one of the rectangular tables. Lady Beauville, the mother of Penelope, one of the bridesmaids, was shown to her seat by Mr Wraythorne, Belinda’s father, and finally they were joined by Jonathan Ransome escorting Mrs Pickering, who, Sophie gathered, was a bosom friend of Lady Peter’s.
Jonathan checked the place cards and seated himself halfway down the table, within easy earshot of Sophie and in her direct line of sight as she sat at the foot of the board with Mr Wraythorne at the head.
Under her firm direction the conversation turned to how the guests had spent the day. Toby was delighted by the opportunity to purchase one of the litter of pointer puppies that the head gamekeeper had shown the men and that discussion turned naturally to the horses in the stables and then to Lord Faversham’s assessment of the countryside around for hunting.
Mrs Pickering then entertained them for ten minutes with a plant-by-plant description of her newly-designed parterre and Sophie relaxed when Lord Faversham’s previously unknown passion for gardening was revealed and the two of them drew everyone into a discussion on whether the London parks were better left as they were or should be landscaped with more flower beds.
She had begun to relax so much that when the gardening discussion flagged she was taken unawares by Jonathan.
‘And how did you spend the day, Miss Wilmott?’ he asked with his most charming smile.
‘Exploring the further reaches of the park with the Duke,’ she responded with a smile equally as calculated as his. ‘We looked at the ruins of the ancient medieval castle up in the hills and I learned much about the history of the area.’
‘Fascinating,’ he said warmly. ‘You must be becoming so attached to this place. What a wonderful future for you.’
‘Indeed.’ She imbued the agreement with just the slightest edge of reproof at his very personal comment and turned to look at the man at the other end of the table. ‘Mr Wraythorne, Belinda tells me you are thinking of spending some time at Weymouth later this year. Is it a resort you know well?’
Please let Mr Tanner have found something, please let him write and the letter be there tomorrow.
The sounds from beyond her door were muffled, but something in their urgency woke her. She stared into darkness, then she saw the line of light under the door to the sitting room. The room had been in darkness when she retired and the door was unlocked, as agreed, but there had been no indication that Jared Hunt was inside on the couch, her silent, unwelcome bodyguard.
The sounds came again as Sophie slid out of bed, found her wrapper by touch and pulled it on as she made her way towards the line of light. Caution made her hesitate, her ear to the panels before she opened the door, but it seemed to her that the stir of movement was further away, perhaps in Cal’s unused sitting room. When she slipped inside there was no-one in sight, but she had a clear view through two rooms to Cal’s bedchamber which was lit by several candles.
‘Cal?’ She picked up her trailing skirts and ran, heedless of bare feet, unbound hair and half-tied robe.
He was lying on his bed, his skin grey, his eyes shut, and did not stir as she erupted into the room. Hunt, a bowl in his hands, spun round as she entered. ‘Stay there.’
‘Why?’ Sophie demanded, ignoring the order. Then Cal’s very stillness halted her. ‘Oh my God, he isn’t – ’
‘No. But he’s been poisoned.’ Hunt opened the dressing room door and thrust the bowl inside. ‘He’s got rid of everything he’s eaten today, I should think, and I finally got some water down him.’
When she touched Cal’s forehead it was dry, the skin tight and hot, and he moved his head restlessly as though the light pressure of her fingers caused him pain. Sophie tiptoed over to Hunt. ‘Should we call the doctor?’
‘To what end? They had no idea before, and these are the same symptoms. Bleeding him will do no good.’
‘My instinct would be to try and cool him down and get him to drink as much as possible,’ Sophie said.
‘I agree.’ The dark man just stood there looking at her.
‘Then let us do that.’
‘You had best go back to your room, Miss Wilmott.’ He looked at Cal. ‘He is not wearing anything.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Mr Hunt! I am about to marry the man. I think I can cope with the sight of his bare flesh, under the circumstances. Help me with the bedclothes. We will need towels, but I don’t want to involve the servants, do you?’
‘No.’ He began to strip the covers off Cal who suddenly groaned and curled up.
‘He looks to be in such pain.’
‘He told me it was agony in the past. Tearing cramps in his guts, shooting pains in his limbs, a blinding headache.’