Page 29 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)
Sophia gazed across the table in the dining room. The Duke sat directly opposite her. She and Grace had orchestrated their arrival so that they, along with the duke, would enter at the same time, providing an ideal opportunity to observe him closely. Lady Whitmore, Grace's aunt, was known for her informality, and as such, the usual protocols of entering the dining room in order of rank were not observed at her gatherings. It had been an easy matter for them to slip into line behind the duke and his family.
Sophia stifled a grin. Grace was seated next to the duke’s cousin, Baron Shipton. She had not overheard their earlier interchange, but it seemed as though the two of them had much to discuss. From what Sophia could catch, Grace was expounding on the early philosophers' views on mathematics, and, surprisingly, the baron was keeping pace with her.
Sophia raised her glass of cordial and took a sip, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched the bright, animated conversation unfold just across the table.
The sound of chairs being pushed back brought her attention back to the moment and she pushed back her own chair and stood. The ladies would go to the drawing-room and the gentlemen to the billiards room for an hour after dinner.
Grace and the baron were still chatting as Sophia fell into line close to them. She did her best to keep an eye on the duke, not wanting to miss any interchanges that might give her clues about his character and motives.
The red-haired man who she had noticed earlier and disliked walked casually up to the duke. The duke’s posture stiffened, and Sophia stepped forward, her interest heightened, pausing in line behind them as if she were adjusting her shawl. Her ears strained to listen to their conversation.
“...and you might consider investing. It’s a passage to India! Cannot help but bring forth all manner of riches, eh?” The red-haired man sounded lighthearted. The duke, who was listening, looked unsure.
“Ships can sink, my lord,” he said tightly.
“Yes, yes! But this one has an experienced captain. Makes it a bit more reliable. Think on it, Your Grace.”
“I shall consider the venture. Thank you for the information,” the duke said in a hard tone that, Sophia thought, conveyed the sense that he would not consider it at all. The red-haired man shrugged.
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
The duke turned and walked off down the hallway towards the billiards room, going inside. Sophia felt the tension in her shoulders ease. The business of the evening was, for the moment, concluded. With the duke playing billiards, she and Grace could not very well observe him, and their task for the evening was as good as done. She mentally set aside the information about the Duke’s sceptical response to the red-haired man. For the first time in the three hours since she had arrived at the ball, she felt a sense of ease—she might finally enjoy herself.
“Sophia! How grand to see you!” Grace enthused, appearing beside her. “Did you find the gravy to your liking?” That was another code expression, referring to information that they had found out.
“It was very satisfactory, though a bit thin,” Sophia told her. She inclined her head in the direction that the men had taken up the hallway. “Do you know who the red-haired man is?”
Grace frowned. “Red hair, you say? Did you notice anything else about him?”
Sophia described him as best she could, and Grace nodded.
“That is the Earl of Edgefield. Well-spotted!” she beamed at Sophia. “That fellow has a horrid reputation. Gambling, mainly.” She shrugged. “No worse than many young nobles, mind.” She wrinkled her nose. “So, I suppose there is no scandal there.”
Sophia frowned. The impression she had gotten was that the duke viewed the earl’s business dealings with scepticism—perhaps even suspicion.
“Look,” Grace whispered, clearly sensing her distraction. “Lady Brookshaw. Talking to Lady Charlotte.”
Sophia turned and spotted an older woman with grey hair whom she was sure she recognised. The woman wore a brown dress in rich, costly velvet. She felt desperate to hear what the woman was saying.
“Your aunt is with them too,” Sophia murmured, getting inspired. “One of us could join the group and engage her in conversation, perhaps include ourselves in their discussion.”
Grace beamed. “Grand idea.”
Sophia’s heart thudded and she drifted lightly across the room towards Lady Whitmore. As she had thought, it was an easy matter to slip into the group of ladies beside their host, and soon she was standing across from Lady Charlotte.
“...and, of course, all of you must be careful,” the older lady in the brown dress said to the group around her, who were, Sophia noticed, mostly young debutantes in their white or pastel gowns. “Your reputations are your most precious treasure. Even those whose families may have secrets—or less-than-ideal reputations—must focus on guarding their own names.” Her gaze moved to Lady Charlotte and stayed there as she spoke. Lady Charlotte looked away, her big eyes wide with confusion and hurt. Sophia’s breath caught in her throat and her temper flared, a wash of protective feeling for Charlotte flooding her. She glared at the older woman but then recalled her need to be nondescript. She stepped out of the group; certain she did not want to hear any more.
She took a breath, trying to calm down. Lady Charlotte’s family did, indeed, have a bad reputation or a secret. Evidently, that was widely known in society. Or, at least, the brown-dressed lady knew of it.
Who is she? Sophia wondered. She was ready to enter the group again and find out the older woman’s name, but before she could do anything, Lady Whitmore cleared her throat.
“Ladies! The gentlemen will be joining us at any moment.” The clock struck on the mantelpiece as she spoke, causing a flurry of whispers and motion as women straightened their shawls, adjusted their hair and checked their appearances. “Card tables have been brought in, should any of you wish to play.”
Sophia stepped back as the group of young debutantes streamed towards the card tables, checking their reflections in the mirror and chatting excitedly. Sophia felt a little sorrowful. She wished she could have been like them at her debut—excited, scared, full of anticipation. She scanned the room for a glimpse of Grace and spotted her standing with Lady Margaret—the Duke’s aunt—probably trying to gain information. She wandered over to join their group. When Grace saw her, she beamed.
“Sophia!” Grace greeted. “Will you play at whist?”
Whist was one of Grace’s favourite things—card games, in general, were one of Grace’s favourite things. She was uncannily good at following the cards and usually won. Sophia chuckled.
“I know I shan’t win if I play against you,” she teased.
Grace chuckled. “You have a small probability of winning. You might be dealt the best hand.”
Sophia made a wry face and they both laughed.
Sophia’s gaze moved to the door, and then she tensed. The gentlemen had arrived, and an air of studied nonchalance settled suddenly on the ladies who had been watching the doorway from their seats by the fire. On the threshold stood the red-haired man, the baron, and the Duke.
Grace looked at Sophia. Sophia looked back, blankly. They needed to follow the Duke and his cousin and ideally, to talk to them. But how? It would be entirely indecorous to approach them directly, and Sophia could think of no way to approach them indirectly without drawing unwanted attention.
“Ladies!” Lady Whitmore appeared and addressed them, drifting over to Grace’s side. “Will you not play a game of Whist?”
Grace nodded. “Gladly, Aunt. But we need four players.” Her gaze moved to the two gentlemen by the door and Sophia’s heart soared, even as her body tensed apprehensively. They could not play cards with the baron and the Duke, could they? Her heart was thudding with some strange, intense emotion that felt a little like when she galloped with her horse around the field. It was exhilarating, but also frightening and dangerous.
“Yes. Quite so,” Lady Whitmore agreed. Her eyes sparkled and Sophia hid a smile as the older woman indicated the two gentlemen by the doorway. “I believe the baron and his cousin are keen card players. I shall make the suggestion, if you would like me to...?”
“Why, thank you, Aunt!” Grace replied, her grin bright. “We would be most obliged to you.”
Sophia murmured her thanks and Lady Whitmore drifted across the room. A minute later, she returned, with the two gentlemen in tow.
“Miss Devereux,” the baron greeted Grace, bowing low. His big smile suggested to Sophia that he had as much interest in Grace as Grace seemed to have in him. “I believe that you young ladies are in need of two more players for whist? Might we join you?”
Grace’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning pink as she curtseyed. “Lord Shipton,” she addressed him politely. “We would be delighted.”
“Thank you.” The baron smiled, his sudden, bright grin making Sophia notice that he was, indeed, quite striking. She forgot that thought as her gaze moved to his shorter, more muscular cousin. The duke was watching her coolly. She forgot any thoughts at all as he bowed low.
“Miss Rutland,” he greeted her in that resonant voice as he straightened up.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, dropping the lowest curtsey she could. She stared into his eyes, unable to look away. They were striking—a mesmerising pale green, like the water of a forest lake under clouds. She realised someone was speaking nearby and tried to focus.
“I suggest that I shall partner Miss Devereux, if I may?” the baron suggested, turning a little shyly to Grace. Grace smiled.
“Of course, my lord.”
Sophia returned to staring at the Duke, who looked back, apparently equally at a loss. If Grace played with the baron, that meant she would have to sit opposite the Duke. Tension and amazement collided in her mind, rendering it a whirling blank.
“Miss Rutland?” the Duke said gently, indicating the card table beside them.
“Oh. Yes,” Sophia murmured, blushing as she heard her own strange comment. What, she thought a little crossly, was the matter with her? She never had trouble thinking or concentrating, and yet when the duke was nearby, she had trouble remembering her own name.
She sat down as he drew out a chair for her. The baron sat down and lifted the pile of cards that was on the table.
“If I may, I will take it upon myself to deal the cards,” he said, grinning at his cousin.
The Duke shrugged. “As you wish, cousin,” he replied lightly.
“Very well. Here,” he stated, beginning on his right, where the Duke sat. He put a card down in front of the Duke, then in front of Grace—who sat opposite him, as was customary for whist teams—and then in front of Sophia. Sophia glanced at the back of the card, not lifting her gaze to the Duke’s face.
The baron dealt all the cards, retaining an extra for himself, which he turned over.
“Diamonds are the trump suit!” he announced, then beamed as he turned over his own hand of cards, holding them towards himself so that nobody could see. Sophia tried not to smile as she turned over her own hand of cards. She had a few good cards, and she did not want to make that fact obvious.
The Duke placed the Ten of Spades, making Sophia smile. Trust him to be unconventional and choose to open with a card that was not of the trump suit . She frowned. She had no idea what had given her the impression that he might be unconventional—everything about him suggested that he tried to conform, from his short-cropped hair to his sombre grey tailcoat. Yet there was an air of being outside society, of flouting its norms without even trying.
His gaze moved to her face, and she blushed. She had been staring. She looked down at her cards, trying to decide what to play. Grace went next. She played a low-ranking card from the Diamonds suit. Sophia smiled to herself. It looked like Grace had terrible cards—her choice suggested that she was hard-pressed to find anything worth playing in her hand. But Sophia knew her, and she knew that Grace was probably bluffing. She looked at her own cards, drawing the Queen of Diamonds out. She put it on the pile and the baron groaned.
“Oh...” the baron said with a big grin. His expression was playfully regretful. He put down the Nine of Diamonds. “The first hand goes to Miss Rutland and my cousin.”
Across the table from him, Grace raised a brow. Sophia chuckled silently to herself. She was sure that Grace and the baron would win the entire game, but it would be fun to make it difficult.
Sophia looked up to find the Duke staring at her again. She blushed, cheeks flooding with heat. Whatever is the matter with him? she asked herself a little crossly. His green-eyed stare was unreadable, and yet it sent shivers through her.
The Duke played a low-ranking card from the Hearts suit. Grace, beside him, produced a much higher-ranking one and shot the baron a quick grin.
Sophia hesitated, then put down a card that trumped both of theirs. Beside her, the baron whistled.
“You win again,” he said swiftly, throwing down a low-ranking card.
Sophia watched as Grace consulted her cards, seemingly unbothered. Her team needed to win the next five hands in order to win, while Sophia and the Duke only needed another three hands to win. She gazed at her cards. She had used up some good ones, but there were still a few strong cards left. She watched as the Duke produced the Ten of Spades.
With a grin so radiant that it seemed it could have lit the entire street, Grace put down the King of Spades. Sophia grimaced and produced a low-ranking Spades card. She did not have many Diamonds left and she wanted to save them. The baron chuckled and put down the Two of Spades, since it did not really matter—their team had won that hand with Grace’s card.
Sophia’s gaze moved to the Duke. His eyes met hers. She wished, silently, that she could talk to him. Conversation among pairs at Whist was not possible because the two players playing together sat opposite one another. Anything they said was heard by everyone.
“Well, then,” the baron said happily. “One hand for us.” He wrote down the score and turned to the Duke. Wordlessly, he produced the Ten of Clubs.
Sophia looked at her hand. She had a few Clubs cards, and she waited to see what Grace would do. Her friend played the Eight of Diamonds.
Sophia winced. She had the King of Clubs. She also had one Diamonds card left, but she had decided that she still wanted to save it. She put down the King of Clubs.
The baron put down the Ace of Clubs and grinned at Grace, who beamed at him.
“We win again,” the baron declared happily.
He wrote down the scores and Sophia glanced at the Duke. She decided on something, and she scratched her nose, a signal that Grace would have understood. If it were Grace, it would have meant that she should play the highest card she had. The duke’s eyes widened and he looked down at his cards. Evidently, that gesture had meant something to him, too. Sophia watched as he chose a low-ranking Diamonds card.
She grinned to herself. It had not been the move she had intended him to make, but her smile widened as she understood what he had done. The players would have to follow suit—in this case, the trump suit, or Diamonds, was the only choice they had. That meant that she had the ideal opportunity to play the highest card she had, the King of Diamonds. She watched as Grace grimaced, then put down a low-ranking Diamonds card herself.
Beaming, Sophia produced her trump card. The baron made a face and threw down a low-ranking Diamonds card.
“A point won by my dear cousin and Miss Rutland,” the baron said with a small smile at the Duke.
Sophia gazed across at the Duke. He seemed to have understood something from her secret gesture. She smiled at him, appreciative of the ideal opportunity that he had afforded her. He smiled back.
Sophia looked down shyly. His smile was magnificent. He had thin, well-formed lips and when they lifted at the corners, his expression part-pleased, part sorrowful, her heart twisted, and her head spun and it felt as though her blood was sparkling and tingling in her veins. She looked up again, doing her best to focus on the game.
The next three rounds went to the baron and Grace, and the baron grinned delightedly as they won the last round. Their team had won overall.
Sophia grinned at her friend, who was beaming with delight. Across the table, the baron was staring admiringly at her and Grace was pink with happiness. Sophia pushed back her chair, wanting to give her friend and the baron some moments to talk with each other.
To her surprise, the Duke pushed back his chair and stood, too.
“Miss Rutland,” he murmured as Sophia crossed around the table to his side. “That was an impressive play.”
“Unfortunately, our opponents are both truly fine card players,” Sophia said with a wry laugh. He inclined his head.
“Indeed. But you demonstrated some very good strategic play.” His green eyes studied her carefully. Sophia’s cheeks flared with heat as she looked shyly down for a moment.
“Thank you. As did you,” she replied.
The Duke’s gaze held hers for a second and Sophia’s cheeks heated again, her heart thudding loudly. It felt as though he was the only person in the room. She looked away, confused.
“Miss Rutland?” An older woman, who was an acquaintance of Lady Whitmore’s, approached her. Sophia turned.
“Yes, Lady Albury?” she asked, recognising the lady.
“Have you seen Adeline?” the woman asked, referring to Lady Whitmore. “I must speak to her.”
“She is over there,” Sophia told her, gesturing.
“Oh! There she is! Thank you,” Lady Albury replied and hurried off.
When Sophia turned around again, the Duke had departed.
She could not stop thinking about him, even as she wandered across the room to find Grace. The words had been brief, but he had made such a strong impact on her.
“Well done,” Grace murmured as she joined her.
“I did nothing. Well done to you,” Sophia said, shaking her friend’s hand. Grace chuckled.
“That was rather pleasant.”
Sophia smiled.
“Have you managed to find out anything?” Grace asked as they drifted down the stairs to the hallway. Coaches were starting to arrive. It was almost time to depart. Papa was always very particular about being punctual. She would need to be in the hallway and ready to return home because he would probably be there waiting.
“Not much,” Sophia told her swiftly, spotting her father in the group downstairs. “I will work on the article tonight. I promise,” she told Grace hastily, not wanting to be overheard.
“Good. I will call on you tomorrow morning,” Grace promised.
Sophia squeezed her friend’s hand in a fond gesture and then hurried to the door to where her father was waiting. She shrugged into her brown pelisse and followed her father down the stairs to the coach.
Papa was silent, as she had expected, and that gave her time to think about the article. Oddly, despite her attempts to think about the Duke and his apparent misdeeds, all that kept on returning to her mind was his smile. She pushed the thoughts away, confused and a little cross with herself.
I will work on the article tomorrow morning, she promised herself. It was quite clear that she was too tired to focus on it before some rest. That must be why her mind kept on returning to the Duke’s smile. It could not be because she was interested in him as a person. Certainly not.
She could not let that happen.