Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Sophronia gave the woman a hard stare, then turned away. The duchess quickly intervened. “You must meet the bride!” She gave Gareth a look as Sophronia tottered toward him, and he made the introductions.

Sophronia baldly looked Miss Grey up and down, then did the same to Mrs. Barrows. “Are you the bride?”

Mrs. Barrows blinked. “No, my sister has that happy honor.”

The older woman grunted. “She doesn’t look honored.”

“Sophronia,” murmured the duchess in a warning way.

“Oh, but she is!” put in Lady Grey. “Who would not be honored to become the Duchess of Wessex, mistress of Kingstag Castle? I assure you, madam, my daughter feels her honor very, very well!”

“She doesn’t show it.” The elderly lady’s keen eye landed on Mrs. Barrows again. “Already married, are you?”

“No, my lady. I’m a widow.” Mrs. Barrows seemed amused by Sophronia. She shot her sister a glance full of impudent amusement. Her mouth twitched as if to keep from laughing. Gareth wondered what her laugh sounded like. What her lips felt like. What she wore underneath that slip of a gown.

God help him.

“You don’t dress like one,” remarked Sophronia. Once again she was coming perilously close to rudeness, and as usual, no one seemed to know quite how to deflect her. She peered closer at Mrs. Barrows’s gown. “Where did you get that chain? It’s quite unusual.”

“Oh my heavens!” burst out Lady Grey. Everyone looked at her and her face seemed to fill with panic for a moment. “I—I beg your pardon, Your Grace, I have just remembered something I must tell my daughter.”

“Yes, Mama,” murmured Miss Grey, stepping forward.

“No, Helen dear.” Her mother’s voice was high and strained. “Your sister.”

Miss Grey’s eyes flickered to Mrs. Barrows’s. Something passed between them, but Gareth wasn’t sure what. Suddenly he understood what Blair had meant about a tension in the Grey family. Even Mrs. Barrows’s supple mouth looked flat. “We’re about to go in to dinner, Mama,” she said, her voice quiet and reserved. There was none of the warmth and humor she had shown before.

Lady Grey’s face pinched. “It will only take a moment, Cleo. Come here.”

“Well, Alice, is it time to eat or isn’t it? I never had the patience to stand around waiting for my dinner.” Sophronia turned to the duchess, who began to look a little strained as well.

“Yes, dinner is ready.” The duchess nodded at one of the footmen, who swept open the doors.

“Thank goodness,” declared Bridget, bounding across the room. Alexandra and Serena followed more sedately. “I’m so hungry!”

“That’s my girl,” said Sophronia with approval as the duchess closed her eyes in despair. “Who’s going to escort me? I see you haven’t got nearly enough gentlemen tonight, Wessex.”

“The guests will begin arriving tomorrow,” he replied. “Blair will give you his arm tonight.” He nodded at his cousin.

Sophronia grunted. “I suppose he’ll do.” She put out her hand, and Blair obediently gave her his arm.

The duchess smiled at the rest of them. “Since we are just family tonight, I thought we could all go in together. I hope you will forgive the informality.”

There was a murmur of assent. Gareth turned to Lady Grey, still hovering behind him. What the devil had she wanted to tell Mrs. Barrows so urgently? And why had it banished the light from the lady’s eyes? Even now, she was staring fixedly at the carpet, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He felt again the oddest sensation of falling. He wanted to shake her mother—her own mother—for dampening her spirits. He must be going mad. “May I escort you, madam?”

Lady Grey hesitated, but after exchanging a glance with her husband, she took Gareth’s arm. “Why yes, how kind, Your Grace! I have heard such reports of your chef at Kingstag, I expect dinner shall be utterly incomparable….” She went on, but he barely heard her. His sisters fell in step with Miss Grey behind them, and they followed his mother into the dining room.

But when he reached the dining room and seated Lady Grey, he discovered that Mrs. Barrows and Sir William had not followed them.





Chapter Four





“STAY A MOMENT,” growled Sir William at his older daughter as the others left the room. Cleo waited, burning with humiliation. The momentary relief she’d felt when the Duke of Wessex intercepted her mother had quickly been replaced by dread when her father gave her a black look behind the duke’s back. For a moment there, she’d been blessing the duke with all her might but of course the coming confrontation couldn’t be avoided.

Her father waited until everyone else had left, then stared fiercely at the footman until the servant closed the door, leaving them in complete privacy. Even then, he spoke in a harsh whisper. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you? When will you cease trying to humiliate us at every turn by bringing up your wretched little trade?”