Page 49 of Dukes for Dessert

Sophie sank to her chair with a thump. She supposed Dr. Gaspar thought himself charitable, but he assumed that when Sophie found herself without a husband, she’d leap at his offer—any husband would be better than none. Blast the man.

She wished David were here so she could tell him about the bizarre encounter. He would laugh, she was certain of it. He’d also understand why she’d turned Gaspar down. Though a woman in her situation might be tempted to marry a man who’d whisk her away from the condemning gaze of society, David would realize why she’d said no.

Not that David, for all his kisses and declarations, had offered her marriage. He’d blatantly suggested he wanted an affair with her, wanted her in his bed, but he’d never said a word about matrimony.

The potsherds blurred before her as tears filled Sophie’s eyes and spilled to her cheeks.

Dr. Gaspar’s proposal, and Sophie’s refusal, made the next day or so decidedly awkward. Dr. Gaspar never said a word, but his gazes from his rather sad brown eyes conveyed much. Uncle, who knew nothing of the matter, spoke robustly about the dig and never noticed Sophie’s silence or Dr. Gaspar’s nervousness.

A letter from the Duchess of Kilmorgan, which reached Sophie a few mornings later, came as a welcome relief.

I would be grateful if you would be my guest in London, Eleanor wrote. The Season is reaching its height, and I’ve been abandoned by my sisters-in-law. Isabella has a large social calendar of her own with the art crowd, Ainsley has retreated to Berkshire with her husband for the horse season, and Beth lives a quiet life with Ian. My nephew Daniel’s wife often helps me, but Violet and Danny are tinkering like mad with a motorcar, determined to win the latest time trial, whatever those are.

If you could see your way to aiding me in my desperation, I would be unceasingly obliged to you. I will also be able to finish my duties quicker so I can take more photographs for your uncle, and no, I am not above a little bribery to bring you to my side. Also it would do you no harm to be seen outside your marriage and under my protection. I speak bluntly because nothing will move forward if I am too delicate to point out your precarious position, which I am not.

Most of all, I would enjoy spending time in your company. I find you refreshing, and my home rather over-runneth with gentlemen. They are fine fellows to be sure, but a female voice in the clamor is always welcome.

Do say you’ll come. I will send my maid, who brooks no nonsense, to escort you, so that you will be saved the horrors of traveling in a train car by yourself. I have also sent the fare for a first class ticket enclosed in this letter, since I am demanding your presence.

Yours in haste,

Eleanor Kilmorgan

Sophie’s ride to London in the cushioned luxury of the first-class carriage, Eleanor’s prim maid to look after the luggage, proved to be soothing. The maid sat upright in the opposite seat, darning socks, for the entire journey. Eleanor’s sons ran through them quickly, it seemed.

Sophie’s own lady’s maid had given notice the moment Laurie’s solicitor had informed Sophie of the divorce proceedings, and after so many months she found it disconcerting but comforting to have someone procure all tickets, snap orders for the luggage to be carried, and see that Sophie was taken care of all the way to Eleanor’s front door.

They approached London from the north, Regent’s Park green with spring. The park at Grosvenor Square was also tinged green, studded with nannies and children enjoying a spate of fine weather.

The Grosvenor Square home of the Duke of Kilmorgan was far grander than any London house Sophie had ever visited, including her husband’s. The Earl of Devonport’s townhouse paled against the double mansion with tall windows whose black fan-lighted door opened to a vast hall.

The lady of the house appeared on the landing of a lavish staircase in pursuit of two boys with red hair, both of whom hurtled toward Sophie with blood-curdling yells.

“Do catch him!” Eleanor shouted as the smaller of the pair shot toward the open front door, evading the footmen and the lady’s maid who lunged to stop him.

Sophie stretched out her arms and caught up the child before he could race out into the street. He was heavy and squirming, but her heart warmed as she held him close and looked him in the face. “Good evening, little man. Where are you rushing off to? I’ve only just arrived.”

The boy ceased struggling and stared at Sophie. He had blue eyes like his mother, his hair dark red, his face freckled.

“I’m Malcolm,” he announced in a voice that carried to the lofty ceiling. “Are you mum’s friend come to stay? Do you play draughts? Or poker? Cousin Danny taught me.”

“I am a mean one for draughts,” Sophie promised. The door had been closed behind her so she set the lad on his feet.

The slightly older boy waited politely in front of Sophie. “I am Alec Mackenzie,” he said, holding out his hand. “How do you do?”

Malcolm snorted. “Prissy-prissy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with good manners, Mal,” Eleanor said as she came off the stairs.

Sophie shook Alec’s hand solemnly, then said to Malcolm, “And of course I know how to play poker. My uncle taught me.”

“See?” Malcolm yelled at Alec. He took a swing at his brother then bolted toward the back of the house.

Alec’s formality dropped in an instant and he raced after Malcolm with a scream of a Highland warrior ready for battle. Two footmen, who must be charged with keeping the boys alive, hurried after them.

“You see why I find photographing ancient tiles in dark holes so refreshing,” Eleanor said to Sophie. “Alec is home from school for a short holiday, and there has been no silence in the house since.” In spite of her words, the look she turned to the vanishing boys held so much love that Sophie’s heart squeezed.

“They are lovely children.”