Word of the betrothal spread through Society as fast as gossip could flow, even before the invitations to the house party were out and long before the wedding invitations were written. Within a day Cal was being congratulated wherever he went and Sophie was mobbed by her friends, gazed at enviously by her few enemies and pointed out as An Example by ambitious mamas to their daughters, regardless of protests that there were no more eligible dukes to ensnare.
‘I hadn’t told anyone, and even if all the people we invited to the house party have told their friends, it is still incredible how news spreads,’ she whispered to her mother one evening a week later. Yet another green-eyed matron had just congratulated Lady Elmham on her triumph before turning back into the throng at Mrs Wissonsett’s musicale.
‘Servants,’ Mama whispered back as they made their way to one of the sofas arranged around the string quartet. ‘It only takes one scullery maid to tell the footman next door and it is all over Town before you can say trousseau.’ She sat in a rustle of aubergine silk. ‘Good evening, Lady Horton.’
The dowager on her other side nodded and peered round to fix Sophie with a beady gaze. ‘And where is your young man, hmm? Vanished again, has he?’
‘The Duke had a previous engagement, Lady Horton.’
‘Fiddle-faddle. He can’t stand hearing catgut tortured and that’s the truth.’ The old lady nodded briskly. ‘Sensible man.’
Fortunately the ensemble began to play, leaving Sophie in peace to contemplate her new life married to the sensible duke. The wicked, passionate duke. The duke with dark secrets and hidden depths. Her duke.
She was still lost in a happy daydream of being the perfect duchess by day and the perfectly wicked one by night when the music came to a halt amidst a smattering of applause.
‘There is Cousin Harriet.’ Her mother stood up and waved across the room. ‘Keep my place, dear, I must ask after Cousin Wallace’s gout.’
For a moment she was free of curious well-wishers. Many of the ladies were discreetly making for the retiring room in case the next piece proved to be a long one and gentlemen were hurrying to the buffet to collect drinks for their partners. Sophie amused herself watching the whispered argument between the viola player and the cellist over a piece of sheet music and then froze, breathless. For a second she could not understand what had seized her with such apprehension, then a tall figure passed behind the platform, walking diagonally from a side door to the buffet.
Blond hair, an attractively elegant profile, a winning smile, just now directed at a blushing young lady in his path. Jonathan Ransome. Her past come back to haunt her.
Her instinct was to get up and run, leave the room before he turned his head and saw her. Sophie tightened her grip on her fan and made herself stay where she was. If he was back in Town she would have to face him and deal with him sooner or later – and better sooner, before he encountered Cal. But she was damned if she would go to him.
Sophie put up her chin, unfurled her fan and smiled as the mother of one of her chosen bridesmaids bore down on her, plumes fluttering.
Apparently she was sounding perfectly rational, because Mrs Gilbert kept up a cheerful flow of conversation, expressed delight at the house party invitation and admired Sophie’s gown.
Mama would be back in a minute, surely? Then Mrs Gilbert moved away and Jonathan Ransome, the man she had been in love with, the man who had ravished and betrayed her, was standing there, a glass of champagne in each hand, smiling down at her as he had that first time when she had tumbled head over heels in love with him. The deceiving toad.
‘Miss Wilmott. Such a pleasure after all this time.’ He handed her the glass which she took. It was that or throw it in his face.
Beside her the sofa was empty. Lady Horton was across the room chatting to an acquaintance and there was nothing to stop him sitting down beside her, which he did with a flick of his coat tails, taking up all the remaining space.
‘Mr Ransome.’ Sophie maintained her smile, somehow. ‘Why, you haven’t changed at all since I last saw you.’
As she had left him drunk and tied to the frame of a sagging bed in an inn, dressed in a highly compromising manner, that was intended to infuriate. It appeared to have succeeded. Jonathan’s beautiful blue eyes darkened and his smile vanished.
‘Yes, I do owe you a debt for that, Sophie darling.’
‘Think nothing of it. After all, I was only taking something in return for what you took from me, Mr Ransome. I do hope I provided some entertainment for your so charming, so boisterous friends.’ The same drunken louts in the taproom he had threatened to share her with unless she yielded to him.
‘Have you missed me?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I went home to Cornwall to look after my father’s estates,’ he said, the smile back in place, just as if she had enquired where he had been.
‘Such a nice long way away from anyone laughing at you,’ Sophie said sweetly.
‘And while I was away you lingered on the shelf. Pining, were you, Sophie?’
‘Rather less than I do for my dentist.’ She laughed and fluttered her fan in case anyone was watching them.
‘But sitting on the shelf gathering dust paid off, I hear. A duke, no less. Clever Sophie.’