Читать книгу: «A Noble Man»

Chapter One

March 1812

The Earl of Yardley glared in frustrated silence at his daughter’s lustrous blue-black curls. Anyone might be forgiven for supposing that Lady Sophia’s bent head and clasped hands expressed contrition, but he was not fooled for a moment. Oh, most definitely not! Unless he much mistook the matter, his daughter’s striking green eyes were twinkling while she was doing her level best to conceal that wickedly provocative smile of hers.

“So, you flatly refuse even to consider this latest proposal,” he reiterated, still somehow managing to keep a tight rein on his temper. Any other young woman would have been overjoyed to receive four offers for her hand since her arrival in town a mere two weeks ago. His Sophia, however, was a law unto herself!

Swinging round on his heels, he went across the room to stare sightlessly out of the library window. “At least may I be permitted to know why you have taken Lord Vale in such dislike?”

“Oh, I do not dislike him, Papa,” his most undutiful offspring hurriedly assured him. “The truth of the matter is I haven’t known him long enough to form an opinion.”

“In that case, what can be your objection other than a need to know him a little better?”

Sophia, with a suspicion of wicked amusement still lingering in her eyes after learning of this latest offer for her hand, raised her head at last. “Well, apart from the fact that he will never see forty again, he is the only gentleman of my acquaintance who could sit in a carriage and stare out of both windows at one and the same time.”

A noise sounding suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle reached her ears, and she looked across the room at her father’s surprisingly straight back and silver-grey hair. For a gentleman who had celebrated his seventy-first birthday just a few short weeks before, he was still in fine physical condition. “Papa, you don’t seriously expect me to consider this offer from Lord Vale, do you?”

He didn’t, but he had no intention of admitting to it. “You seem to forget that I was several years older than Lord Vale is now when I proposed to your mother.”

“True, but you were such a distinguished-looking gentleman…still are, for that matter. Besides which, you haven’t a turn in your left eye.”

“Don’t try those wheedling ways with me, my girl!” his lordship snapped, striving not to let his favourite child twist him round her little finger, which, sadly, she so often did. “Very well, I can understand your reluctance in not wishing to consider Vale’s offer, but what about the one from young Farley?”

Sophia’s finely arched brows rose. “Are you by any chance acquainted with the Honourable Cedric Farley? I don’t think you possibly can be, sir…He’s a moonling!”

Once again his lordship was forced to exercise the firmest control in order to conceal his amusement. His daughter was nothing if not brutally candid. “And what were your objections to both Pelham and Neubert, may I ask?”

“A pair of tailor’s dummies!”

“God in heaven!” His lordship clapped a hand over his eyes. “Where in the world do you learn such expressions?”

The exaggerated raising of one brow was a clear indication that she considered the question totally unnecessary. “From the male members of this household, who else?”

Not best pleased at suddenly finding himself at a disadvantage, the Earl went striding back across to his desk. “I’ll have a word with that brother of yours when next I see him. He must learn to put a guard on his tongue when you’re about.”

“I’m reliably informed that Marcus should be arriving any time now, and intends to stay in town for a week or two. I must say though, Papa, I think you’re being grossly unfair to take him to task,” she pointed out in her absent half-brother’s defence, “especially as you yourself use the most appalling cant when in my presence.”

He was about to refute this, but then thought better of it and, instead, scooped up and waved the letters he had received during the past two weeks from those four hapless suitors. “Don’t think that you can lead me away from the matter in hand, you cunning little minx!”

The only effect this mild rebuke had on his headstrong daughter was to make her smile more brilliantly, and his lordship’s annoyance finally got the better of him. “You appear to take a light view of marriage, Sophia. Well, permit me to point out that it is a very serious business. An ill-judged choice of partner only brings misery to all concerned, and I do not intend that you should make a mistake in your choice of husband if it is within my power to prevent it. So, I have come to a decision.”

He paused for a moment to ensure that he had her full attention. “I have made no secret of the fact that I intend to settle a large sum of money upon you when you marry. There is, however, a condition attached to my generosity. If you choose to marry without my consent, then your future husband had better possess sufficient funds to support you, because you will receive not a penny from me.” Again he paused while he tossed the letters from the rejected suitors back on the desk. “Now, do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir. What you are trying to tell me is that I may marry whomsoever I choose providing he has wealth and belongs to our social class.” An ominous glint replaced the teasing sparkle in her eyes, as Sophia rose gracefully from the chair nearest to the hearth. “It would appear, then, that I am destined to lead a life of hardship, for I would far rather be poor and married to a man of real worth than riveted to some empty-headed fribble whose only concern is how best to tie his cravat.”

His lordship could be as determined as his headstrong daughter when he chose, and refused to give way on this issue. “I would suggest that you go up to your room and think very seriously about this matter,” he remarked, unbending.

Obediently she moved across to the door, but turned back to add, eyes still glinting, though whether in anger or devilment or a mixture of both, his lordship wasn’t perfectly sure. “Of course I shall do as you wish, but not for any great length of time. Mama would not be best pleased if I were late in putting in an appearance at my very own ball.” And with that quite deliberately provocative remark she left the room, and her father wondering what he had ever done that the gods should have seen fit to curse him with such a headstrong chit of a girl.

The Countess, emerging from the front parlour in time to see her daughter mount the stairs, was not slow to notice the stubborn set of those lovely features, and knew even before she entered the library to find her husband glowering out of the window that the interview had not progressed quite as he might have wished.

“I assume Vale’s offer received the same contemptuous refusal as the other three,” she remarked, seating herself in the chair recently vacated by Sophia.

“That daughter of yours is impossible!” his lordship snapped. Which, of course, was answer enough.

“Why is it, Thomas, that she is always my daughter whenever she has displeased you in some way, and your darling little Sophie at all other times?”

Annoyed though he was, he could not help smiling at this undeniable truth. He turned to look at the woman who had brought real peace and contentment to his life, and not for the first time blessed Providence for ensuring that their paths had crossed all those years ago out in India.

Unlike Danielle, his first wife, Marissa had never possessed any real claim to beauty, not even in her youth, and yet his lordship considered that her many wonderful qualities had withstood the test of time, whereas mere prettiness never could. She had proven to be a devoted wife and loving mother to their own offspring, and even though she had failed completely to cement a maternal bond with Marcus, the only child by his first marriage, his eldest son had never made any secret of the fact that he held his stepmother in the highest esteem.

A sigh escaped him as he drew his mind back to the present, and seated himself in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. “I fear, my dear, that I have made a mull of it all. Sophia flatly refuses even to consider Vale’s offer.”

Her ladyship smiled faintly. “Can you honestly say that you’re surprised? He is, after all, a good deal older than she. Apart from his wealth, he has little to commend him, and I’m afraid the size of a gentleman’s fortune would have very little influence on our daughter.”

“She has made that abundantly clear.” The Earl’s grey brows snapped together, clearly revealing his continuing displeasure. “Of course, all this flagrant disregard for wealth and rank was instilled in her at that confounded school. She ought never to have gone there, Marissa! That Guarding creature is nothing short of a revolutionary, with her nonsensical notions of equality.”

Once again the Countess smiled that serene smile of hers. “If you recall, Thomas, we both agreed that Sophia would benefit from a year or two away at school. It was, let me remind you, you who insisted that she should not be placed in any one of those superior seminaries in Bath, where she would be absent from home for weeks at a time. The Guarding Academy, being situated so close to home, and having such a good reputation, was the most obvious choice. And as regards what she learnt there…” Her ladyship reached for her embroidery and began calmly to ply her needle. “She learnt nothing from Mrs Guarding that you yourself did not instil in all your children. From an early age all four of them were taught to treat those less fortunate than themselves with fairness and civility. And that, my dear Thomas, is precisely why we rarely have a servant wishing to leave our employ.”

He found himself quite unable to argue with this. “Very true, my dear,” he concurred. “I do believe in treating good and loyal servants courteously, but that doesn’t mean I’d be content to have a footman as a son-in-law.”

Her ladyship’s brows rose at this. “And what on earth makes you suppose that there is any likelihood of that occurring?”

“Because that confounded daughter of yours can be quite stubbornly headstrong when the mood takes her!” his lordship retorted, irritation surfacing again. “She as good as informed me that nothing would induce her to marry a member of her own social class, and that she would far rather be poor and riveted to some impoverished nobody, would you believe?”

The Countess regarded her husband in silence for a moment, realising suddenly that far more had taken place between father and daughter than she had at first realised. “Why should Sophia imagine that she will ever be poor? She is an heiress. You have agreed to settle a fortune on her.”

For the first time his lordship betrayed clear signs of unease. “Only on condition she marries with my full approval,” he mumbled, already regretting having issued such a threat.

It was only to be expected that a girl accustomed to having most everything her own way almost from the day of her birth would kick over the traces when finding herself harnessed for the very first time. But what choice had he? He had only her best interests at heart. Why in heaven’s name couldn’t the headstrong chit see that!

Feeling suddenly weary, he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, Marissa, I’m at a loss to know what to do for the best. I’m one-and-seventy. I can’t live for ever. I do not doubt for a moment that the boys will go on very well without me, but who will take care of my little Sophia when I’m gone?”

Refusing to become depressed at discussing such a melancholy topic, her ladyship said, “Marcus will, I’m certain, admirably fill your shoes when the time comes. Which I sincerely trust will not be for several years yet.” She clearly heard the faint derisive snort. “You do Marcus a grave injustice, my dear, if you suppose for a moment that he would neglect his responsibilities. He has looked after your estate in the north superbly during these past years. I know that he sometimes seems hard and unapproachable, but beneath that prickly exterior he is a very considerate man. He is very fond of his twin brothers, and of Sophia in particular.”

Much to his intense regret, his lordship had never been able to deal well with his eldest child. None the less, he was fair-minded enough to admit that his wife was right. “But remember, my dear, that Marcus will one day marry himself, and raise a family. He will not then wish to be saddled with the added burden of keeping his eye on his frequently wayward half-sister.”

“She might be wilful on occasions, Thomas,” her ladyship responded, once again finding herself coming to Sophia’s defence, “but she’s no fool. She may still harbour some girlish romantic notions, but I believe she will think long and hard before she ties herself to any man.”

The Earl remained unconvinced, but the Countess had more faith in their daughter’s judgement. “Leave it to me, my dear,” she said in her placid way. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

Final arrangements for the ball kept the Countess occupied for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if this had not been the case she would still have refrained from searching out her daughter and raising the topic of marriage, simply because it could only make the situation worse if Sophia felt that both her parents were intent on her making a superb match before the Season was over.

In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Although the Countess could well understand her husband’s concern over their only daughter’s future, and could appreciate, too, even though he had not admitted to it in so many words, that he was eager to keep fortune-hunters at bay, she saw no earthly reason why Sophia should not relax and enjoy her first Season in London. If she did happen to make the acquaintance of some personable gentleman with whom she could happily spend the rest of her life, all well and good; if not…well, there was always next year.

It was in this very understanding mood that the Countess entered her daughter’s bedchamber in time to see the skilful young abigail positioning a spray of silk flowers in Sophia’s beautifully arranged black locks. Unlike her occasionally volatile daughter, her ladyship always kept a tight hold on her emotions, but there was definitely a hint of pride in her grey eyes as she studied her daughter’s faultless appearance.

“My dear, you look utterly charming,” she announced in her quiet way, while nodding dismissal to the maid.

Although Mother Nature had been undoubtedly generous, blessing her with lovely face and figure to match, Sophia was singularly lacking in conceit, as she proved now by glancing at her reflection with scant enthusiasm. “This is a very pretty gown, Mama, and I do like it very well, but I would have preferred to have it made up in dark blue or red. Madame Félice said that, with my colouring, vibrant shades would suit me best.”

“And Madame Félice has earned herself something of a reputation for never being wrong, I know,” the Countess responded. “Nonetheless, I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that only pastel shades are suitable for young ladies. After you’re married, of course, the wearing of richer colours will be perfectly in order.”

She caught her daughter’s suddenly assessing look in the dressing-table mirror, and smiled. No, she mused, there was precious little wrong with Sophia’s understanding. Nor did she suppose for a moment that her daughter would disgrace herself by eloping with some penniless nobody, providing, of course, pressure was not brought to bear which might induce her to commit such folly.

“No, my dear, I didn’t come to your room with the intention of discussing the subject of marriage,” she assured her, knowing precisely what was going through that pretty little head. “I should imagine you’ve heard more than enough on that particular topic for one day.”

Sophia almost sighed with relief. Her mother, always remarkably composed, was unfailingly sympathetic to the feelings of others. How she wished she could be more like her! Sadly, though, she feared she had inherited the occasionally fiery and frequently stubborn Cleeve temperament.

“I’ve never known Papa to be so unreasonable before. He seems to suppose that only a person of rank and wealth will make me a good husband.”

The Countess, appreciating only too well her poor husband’s dilemma, remained silent. How could a loving father explain to a much beloved daughter that her hand might be sought in marriage for her fortune alone, without hurting her feelings?

“And yet it was he who instilled in us all,” Sophia went on, “that a servant can exhibit just as much nobility as a duke. Perhaps he taught me too well, for I would much rather be married to a good and worthy man, no matter what his position on the social ladder, than marry a titled gentleman simply because by doing so I could continue to live in luxury.” She cast her mother a look of entreaty. “You can understand that, can’t you, Mama?”

“Better than you think, my dear. What you are trying to say is that you wish to marry a man you can love and respect and, moreover, a man who will love and respect you in return.” Seating herself on the chaise-longue, she held out her hand and waited for her daughter to join her before adding, “Your father wants that too. He is only concerned for your happiness, Sophia. He would do everything within his power to ensure that you do not make the mistake that he once made.”

The Earl’s first marriage was a subject that was rarely mentioned—taboo, almost. Sophia had, none the less, learned enough over the years from elderly servants and friends of the family to be certain that her father bitterly regretted marrying the beautiful Danielle.

“Yes, I do understand,” she said softly. “But I have yet to meet a man with whom I could happily spend the rest of my life. I’m afraid, Mama, that the Lord Vales of this world are not to my taste.”

“Middle-aged dandies were never to mine either, child,” the Countess confessed, giving her daughter’s hand an affectionate pat. “There is no earthly reason why you should accept a proposal of marriage if you do not wish to. Sooner or later I feel certain that you will meet some personable young gentleman who will succeed in capturing your heart, but until such time, do not worry your pretty head over it any more.”

This was easier said than done. Although slightly reassured by her mother’s understanding attitude, Sophia remained decidedly troubled. She hated being at odds with her father, while at the same time she continued to resent the unreasonable stand he had adopted. Was it her fault that four gentlemen had proposed marriage to her since her arrival in town? She certainly hadn’t offered any one of them the least encouragement, unless agreeing to partner someone in a dance was considered sufficient inducement for a gentleman to propose marriage.

It was all so ridiculous, she decided, rising to her feet and accompanying her mother from the room. She had barely exchanged more than a dozen words with any one of those rejected suitors, so what on earth had made them suppose that she would make an ideal wife?

She was not so small-minded as to suppose that just because love at first sight was a phenomenon that she herself had failed to experience the event never took place. She was well aware, too, that gentlemen were frequently beguiled by a pretty face. She could not help wondering, though, whether she would appear quite so appealing to certain members of the opposite sex if it were not for the fifty thousand pounds her father had promised to settle upon her when she married.

A slow and wickedly calculating smile curled the corners of what one besotted young fop had been overheard to call the most kissable mouth in London, as Sophia caught sight of her father standing at the entrance to the ballroom in readiness to greet the first of the guests. His threat to disinherit her if she married without his approval might well be turned to her advantage. If it became common knowledge that she wasn’t an heiress at all, those offers for her hand might swiftly lessen and, with any luck, cease altogether, leaving her free to enjoy her first Season in London without causing further friction between her and her sire.

The idea, once firmly embedded, quickly began to grow, and Sophia had little difficulty in putting her plan into effect by dropping a word here and there into a receptive ear. Although the Season had not officially begun, London was certainly not thin of company, and invitations to the Yardley ball had been eagerly accepted. Among the four hundred guests were many hopeful mamas whose daughters sadly possessed scant claim to beauty. It was only to be expected, therefore, that some doting parents would be only too willing to pass on unfavourable snippets concerning a dangerous rival, especially if it increased their own offspring’s chances of achieving a suitable match.

Consequently, as the evening progressed, Sophia became increasingly satisfied with the many long and thoughtful glances cast in her direction. She was not so foolish as to suppose for a moment that everyone would believe the rumour which was circulating about her, nor did she consider that a supposed lack of fortune would deter every gentleman from making her an offer, and made allowances for this contingency by not standing up with the same gentleman more than once.

Nevertheless, she was never short of a partner, and the evening was well advanced before she managed to leave the dance floor and search out her good friend Robina Perceval, who also happened to be enjoying her first London Season.

“This is a truly magnificent ball,” Robina announced when Sophia had almost slumped, exhausted, in the vacant chair beside her. “I do not think I’ve ever seen so many people crowded into one room before. The dances Aunt Eleanor organises at the Angel back home are nothing to it.”

Sophia was not so impressed. Unlike Robina, who lived a rather quiet life at the vicarage in Abbot Quincey, a small market town situated within easy walking distance of the Cleeves’ country home, Sophia had attended many large parties since the age of sixteen. “Yes, a dreadful squeeze, isn’t it? You’ll need to accustom yourself to such gatherings, Robin, because I’m reliably informed that a party isn’t considered a success unless you’re forever stepping on someone’s toes.”

She took a moment to gaze about the crowded ballroom, trying to pick out the odd familiar face. “I was sorry to learn that your cousin Hester would not be attending, but her brother Hugo is here. I danced with him earlier.”

“I understand that Aunt Eleanor and Hester will not be arriving in town until April.” Robina couldn’t help but smile. “I think if it was left to Hester she wouldn’t be coming at all. Unlike Hugo, she has no taste for town life. She would much prefer to remain locked away in that attic room of hers. Though what she finds to keep her so occupied up there for hours at a time is anybody’s guess. Who would believe a brother and sister could be so dissimilar!”

Her smile faded as she glanced at her friend’s lovely profile. They had known each other most all their lives, and had always been the very best of friends, so Robina experienced no hesitation in saying, “I think you should know that there is a rather unpleasant rumour circulating about you tonight.” It was then she noticed the betraying twitch at the corner of her friend’s mouth. “Never tell me that you put it about that you haven’t a feather to fly with! What on earth possessed you?”

Well aware that the vicar’s daughter would never betray a confidence, Sophia didn’t hesitate in enlightening her. “So you see,” she went on, after repeating the gist of the interview with her father earlier in the day, “I was forced to do something to stem these ridiculous proposals of marriage. And it isn’t as if the rumour is a lie. Papa has threatened to disinherit me if I marry against his wishes.” A defiant little gleam sprang into her eyes. “And to be perfectly honest with you, at this precise moment in time I’m inclined to do precisely that.”

Robina sat silently digesting what she had learned. She had been taught to consider envy a sin, but couldn’t help feeling a touch resentful over her friend’s privileged position. Their circumstances were vastly contrasting. Sophia could reject suitors at will, whereas she herself would need to consider very carefully any offer of marriage that came her way. There was no fault to find with her lineage: both her parents came from noble stock. The Perceval name was an old and honoured one, but that did not alter the fact that she was little more than a country parson’s daughter whose dowry was woefully small. Her parents, though comfortably circumstanced, were by no means wealthy, and they most certainly could not afford a second London Season for their eldest daughter with three younger ones eagerly waiting to be launched into society. So Robina felt it her duty to accept any reasonable offer of marriage. But how she wished that she too could marry just for love!

“I have been away from the steadying influence of the vicarage a few days only,” she remarked with a wry little smile, “yet already I’m in danger of being corrupted by the dangerously frivolous lures and heady atmosphere of the metropolis.”

Sophia frankly laughed. “My staid little friend being led astray…? By whom or what, may I ask?”

“I shall explain some other time, for unless I much mistake the matter, a gentleman is approaching, with every intention of asking you to dance.”

Lord Nicholas Risely was, indeed, heading in their direction. Tall, slim and very good-looking, he was a firm favourite with a great many of society’s leading hostesses and, consequently, was invited everywhere. His attire was faultless, his address excellent, and as he just happened to be the son of a duke, albeit a younger one, he was looked upon as being a very eligible parti.

In the normal course of events these facts alone would have prompted Sophia to add his name to that list of gentlemen best avoided, but she had not. Instead, she had permitted him to add his name to her dance card, simply because she had been most reliably informed that Lord Nicholas Risely was not on the look-out for a wife.

Happily allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, she couldn’t help noticing the strange look he cast her as they prepared to join one of the sets. “Something appears to be troubling you, my lord,” she remarked. “I cannot imagine you are concerned over making a cake of yourself. You are such an excellent dancer.”

As luck would have it the steps of the dance separated them, which granted Lord Nicholas the opportunity of formulating a response. Having met her on two occasions before, he had already decided that he rather liked Sophia Cleeve. She was bright and witty, nothing like the majority of simpering misses who flooded the marriage mart every year. If he had not been quite content to continue with his bachelor existence for a few years longer, she would have been just the sort of girl that would have appealed to him.