Bachelor Duke. Mary Nichols

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      It all came back to her then: the long, exhausting journey by land and sea, the slow progress behind the Regent’s procession, which they had come up with only an hour after leaving Dover. The Regent was either very vain or very stubborn because he had insisted on stopping to greet his people, even when they were only a half a dozen on a street corner who looked to Sophie as if they had only been waiting to cross the road. Whenever they stopped the tall equerry was in evidence, shepherding people away from the royal carriages, looking about for trouble, trying his best to keep the cavalcade moving. Sophie wondered what his name was and if he had a title and decided he must be a lord at the very least. In her imagination she dubbed him Lord Ubiquitous because he seemed to be everywhere. No doubt if anything bad befell his charges, he would have to answer for it.

      He had controlled his horse with consummate skill, was polite if a little frosty to the people around him and smiled when speaking to the Regent and his guest. Not for a moment had he shown any sign of impatience, but somehow Sophie sensed it was there, carefully hidden. It revealed itself in the way he carried himself, in small gestures, in the lifted eyebrows to Captain Summers when his Highness insisted on stopping. On one occasion the Regent had beckoned to a little urchin playing in the dirt and given him some small token, though the child seemed to have no idea what to do with it. Lord Ubiquitous had leaned down from his mount and whispered something, which made the boy laugh and he had run off, clutching his prize.

      There had been no possibility of overtaking the royal carriages, so Lord Myers had instructed the coachman, hired at Dover, to stay well back, and Sophie was able to look about her. The countryside was verdant, the sun had a gentle warmth, not the uncomfortable heat of Naples. There were people working in the fields, plodding behind working horses. In the meadows cattle grazed and young lambs trotted behind their mothers, bleating for attention. This was the England she remembered, the England her mother had yearned for all the years of her exile. Was that why it felt so much like coming home?

      London, when they reached it, was packed, just as Paris had been. Rich and poor jostled each other, carriages vied for space with carts, and the noise of it all assailed her ears: grinding wheels, ringing hooves, neighing horses and voices, some high-pitched, some raucous. When the crowd saw who sat in the grand carriages smiling and waving fat beringed hands at them, they were openly hostile. Sophie heard one wag shout, ‘Where’s your wife?’ And this was echoed by others until it became a chorus.

      ‘What do they mean?’ she asked Lord Myers.

      ‘Oh, they are referring to the Princess of Wales,’ he said. ‘She is far more popular than her husband, who tries very hard to pretend she does not exist. The people like to remind him of her now and again.’

      Their ways diverged after they crossed the river and the Myers’s coach went on to Holles Street, where the servants had been expecting them hours before. It was extremely late, the dinner spoiled and they had to make do with a cold collation before tumbling into their beds.

      And now it was morning, the first day of her new life and whatever was in store for her, she would have to make the best of it. Until she had made her call on the Duke, she could make no plans, and meeting the Duke was something that filled her with trepidation. She dressed hurriedly and went down to the breakfast parlour where she found Lady Myers immersed in the morning paper, which reported the arrival of the French King and a great deal of other news, some of it political, some of it mere gossip. She laid it aside on Sophie’s entrance. ‘How did you sleep, dear?’ she asked.

      ‘Like the dead,’ Sophie said. ‘I was worn out.’

      ‘That is hardly to be wondered at. Shall we stay at home and rest today? Tomorrow will be time enough for paying calls if you are too fatigued.’

      Sophie was very tempted. It would be so easy to presume upon her ladyship’s generosity and do nothing, but her circumstances and sense of fair play would not allow it. ‘Unless you have other plans, I think I should make my call at Belfont House first,’ she said. ‘It has been playing on my mind. If the Duke is from home, I can ascertain if he is at Dersingham Park.’

      ‘Do you not think you should purchase a new gown before presenting yourself?’ her ladyship suggested.

      Sophie looked down at the lilac muslin she had fetched out of her trunk. It was so simple as to be childlike, with its mauve ribbons under the bosom and round the puffed sleeves. Its only decoration was a little ruching round the hem, which had been mended more than once. ‘You think I should be in mourning?’

      ‘Do you?’ Lady Myers countered.

      ‘No. I mourned Mama and I mourned the man my father once was, but that was three years ago and, strangely enough, Papa’s last words to me were, “Do not mourn me, I am unworthy of it.”’

      ‘Then lilac is perfectly fitting, except that gown is very simple.’

      ‘Simple things do not become outdated so quickly and I cannot afford to buy something just because the fashion changes.’

      ‘Hmm, no doubt you are right,’ her ladyship said. It was sympathy and help the girl needed and strutting about in the height of fashion would not further that end, though she was wise enough not to utter her thoughts. ‘I will order the carriage for noon.’

      Sophie was shaking with nerves by the time the barouche drew up outside the house in South Audley Street and only Lady Myers’s hand under her elbow prevented her from taking flight. She was being a ninny, she told herself sternly. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was her mother’s daughter and Mama had always told her to be proud, hold up her head and look the world in the eye, and that is what she would do. If the Duke of Belfont refused to recognise her, then so be it.

      ‘Lady Myers and Miss Sophia Langford,’ her ladyship said, handing the liveried footman her card. ‘We wish to speak to the Duke on a personal matter.’

      ‘I will ascertain if his Grace is receiving, my lady,’ he said pompously. ‘Please be seated.’ He waved them to a row of chairs ranged against the wall of the vestibule and disappeared down a marble tiled hall, his back stiff, his white-wigged head held high.

      Lady Myers sat down, but Sophie could not sit still and began looking about her. There was an ornate cantilever staircase that set off at the centre of the hall and divided on a half-landing before climbing again to a gallery lined with pictures. On each side of the stairs the hall was lined with doors, all of which were closed. The footman had gone through one of them and shut it behind him.

      ‘Oh, I wish I had never come,’ Sophie whispered. The grandeur of the place was overwhelming.

      ‘Take heart, dear. I am right beside you and I will make the introductions.’

      The footman returned, leaving the door ajar. ‘This way, ladies, if you please.’

      They followed him and waited while he announced them. ‘Your Grace, Lady Myers and Miss Langford.’ Then he stood aside for them to enter the room.

      A second later Sophie found her jaw dropping open because the man she faced was not the sixty-year-old duke she had expected, but the handsome equerry she had dubbed Lord Ubiquitous, elegant in dark green superfine coat and cream pantaloons, his fair curls brushed into attractive disorder. And he was looking just as astonished as she was.

      ‘Good God!’ he murmured loud enough for her to hear.

      Before she could open her mouth to retort, Lady Myers spoke. ‘Your Grace?’ It was a question, not a greeting.

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