Page 32 of Dukes for Dessert

“No.” Sophie had to face what was in herself. “I did not.”

Eleanor’s crooked smile warmed her. “Well then, we must retrieve you from this wretched marriage so you can kiss David with impunity.”

Sophie gave a bitter laugh. “My husband is trying to push me from it quite eagerly.”

“In a most inelegant and shameful way. Never mind. We shall see what happens.”

She looked mysterious, and Sophie’s misgivings rose. “David … Mr. Fleming hinted there could be an annulment, but that is impossible. What do you know of it? I see by your face you know something.”

“I do. But I do not wish to raise your hopes. Let me simply say that Mr. Fleming knows powerful people, my husband included in that number. They will work, and we shall await the outcome.”

“Why should they?” Sophie ceased walking, facing the duchess as the wind tugged at hats and skirts. “Why should powerful men care about the bad marriage of the Earl of Devonport and his nobody wife?”

Eleanor regarded her calmly. “You are an intelligent young woman, I can see. Why do you suppose?”

Sophie did not believe her face could grow any more scalding. “You are saying David … Mr. Fleming … cares for me. I think you’re wrong. I think he is trying to redeem himself—perform a good deed and be praised by his friends, or be forgiven for his past, or … I don’t know. He was very much in love with you.” Sophie looked straight into the duchess’s blue eyes. “Perhaps he is trying to gain your admiration.”

“He is always attempting to gain my admiration,” Eleanor said without concern. “And Hart’s. That does not mean he cares nothing for you.”

“He was in love with you,” Sophie said, exasperated out of her politeness.

“Not at all.” Eleanor’s tone turned brisk. “David liked me very much—he still does, bless him—and he felt sorry for me. David lives very much in Hart’s shadow—he usually prefers that, but it can’t be easy. He took the opportunity once Hart’s shadow moved to propose to me, but I knew full well we’d never suit. David knew that too once he worked through his wounded vanity. He is neither a slave to his emotions nor a fool.”

Sophie listened in disquiet. Uncle Lucas had implied that David had nearly wrecked his life for this woman, and she’d observed how easily Eleanor and David had fallen in with each other upon her arrival.

Because they had been friends for so long? Were they that comfortable with each other?

Sophie envied them this, even under her flare of jealousy. How lovely to have such a friendship. If the world were a different place, she could live forever with Uncle in the vicarage, friend David appearing for long stays, the three of them growing closer as the years passed.

But the world was not comforting. It preferred Sophie to either be married or widowed, to have no bodily desires, and to not dwell under the same roof as an unmarried gentleman, even with her uncle as a chaperone. Her bubble of coziness here would come to an end soon, never to be repeated.

Eleanor turned with Sophie and began walking again, in silence this time, sweeping her gaze over the landscape.

Sophie studied her curiously. “What about you, Lady Eleanor? You mentioned your husband’s shadow—you must live constantly in it, as I do in my husband’s. How do you manage?”

“Easily,” Eleanor answered without rancor. “I side-step right back into the sunshine. Drives Hart spare.” She smiled broadly, a woman confident in her own life and power.

Sophie had once thought she was as confident. Now she swam in a sea of confusion.

“You must be very happy,” she said glumly.

Eleanor pulled her closer and patted her hand. “You must not give way, my dear. We will see that you are happy. I have determined this. I am so determined that Hart rolled his eyes at me and sent me away. Which means he agrees with me.” Another pat as Eleanor gazed across the fields again. “What lovely country. I believe there are picturesque ruins of an abbey that I can photograph, are there not? I will have so many plates to develop I’ll not come out of my darkroom for weeks.” She squeezed Sophie’s arm and smiled excitedly. “What a treat.”

David watched Sophie as she held a mirror to beam a ray of sunlight onto the floor. She remained patient while Eleanor repositioned her camera a dozen times, none of the angles right, or so she claimed.

David hunkered on the other side of the mosaic with his mirror, he and Sophie trying to send the faint light onto the tiles. They’d cleared the hole and shored up its walls, but even so, it was tight quarters.

“You had to unearth the smallest Roman villa in creation,” David called up to the hovering Dr. Pierson. “Instead of the lavish Golden House of Nero.”

“I’m certain even bits of that found will be small,” Pierson said without rancor. “It has been two thousand years, my friend. We cannot expect vast parlors for us to lounge in.”

“I don’t see why not. The Romans were fond of lounging. They ate dinner lying down.”

“Must have been a messy business.” Eleanor bent over her camera, covering her head with a black cloth to shut out what there was of the light. “I can’t tuck into a cream cake at tea without dropping it all over my clothes.”

David’s imagination flashed to Sophie biting into the profiterole, cream sliding over her lips.

She must have thought about it at the same instant, because her eyes sought David’s, and they shared a hot look.