Good times – ‘Damn it!’ Having the strapping removed was almost as painful as having it applied and certainly an antidote to reminiscence.
Finally the large copper bath was filled and Cal sank into it with a wince, wondering if it was going to take a block and tackle to haul him out. But this was too good to worry about that now. He closed his eyes, inhaled lemon verbena-scented steam and contemplated courting Sophie Wilmott in earnest and not simply as a means to needle Ralph.
What was his equivalent of Sophie’s WWIGG list? W for well-bred – this theoretical woman was going to be a duchess, when all was said and done. I for Intelligent, definitely, or he’d be bored in a week. F for Faithful. He had no tolerance for infidelity. Beautiful? Not necessarily. What was inside was more important. Elegant was more like it. Beyond that he wasn’t fussy. Preferably not a brunette again, definitely not a vapid giggler and hopefully without irritating baggage in the shape of strange or impecunious relatives.
What did that make? W.I.F.E., of course. He’d take that as a good omen that he should proceed with courting someone. So, think about Sophie. Blonde, elegant in a lively kind of way. Intelligent. Good family. And beautiful. Very beautiful. That guinea-gold hair, those blue eyes, that slender, curved figure, those long fingers caressing the reins, closing round the whip handle…
‘Sweet dreams?’
Cal woke up with a painful jolt, slid beneath the water and came up spluttering to glare at Jared Hunt who lounged against the wall at the foot of the bath regarding him with an evil grin.
‘What?’
Hunt pointed at the bath. ‘I was expecting to find you battered, bruised and nursing your injuries, not daydreaming with an impressive cock-stand breaking the surface. Who is she?’
Cal looked down. Ah. Yes, probably another sign that he should be courting Miss Sophie Wilmott.
Chapter Four - Where Sophie Becomes Uncertain
‘I am not bandying a lady’s name about over the bathwater.’ Cal lobbed a wet sponge at Hunt who ducked, swearing.
He stayed bent over the bath studying Cal’s damaged body with the detachment of a fencing master assessing the fitness of his pupil, his long, tightly-plaited queue sliding over her shoulder. ‘Strange that you can journey round the world with scarcely a scratch and the moment you are back in England you end up battered and bruised.’
‘This was definitely an accident.’ Cal sat up and began to soap himself one-handed. ‘But I am contemplating some provocative action that should produce a reaction if anyone does have an eye on my title.’
‘Marriage would certainly do that, if that’s what’s preoccupying you,’ Hunt agreed. He hefted a jug of clean water and poured it over Cal’s head.
He came up spluttering. ‘And the lady in question may well be of interest to my cousin. Give me a hand to get out, will you?’
Hunt hauled him to his feet, passed him a towel and listened while Cal explained about Sophie and Cousin Ralph’s apparent interest in her. ‘It’s a complicating factor. If he does nothing to counter you then he is lacking in backbone but we’re no further forward as regards his private feelings about you. If he does react strongly we won’t know whether it is to protect his position with the lady or because he is using that as an opportunity to damage you.’
‘Now that would be a scandal, to inherit a dukedom by killing your predecessor in a dual over the future duchess.’ Cal gave up on drying himself with one hand and shrugged damply into his silk banyan. ‘Ralph’s not a hot-head, nor is he reckless. Damn it, Jared, I could almost think this is all my imagination now that I am back in the country and I’ve met my uncle and cousin again. It seems such a gothic tale.’
‘And yet?’ Hunt followed him through into the bedchamber where Flynn was laying out clothes. ‘You said almost.’
‘And yet. I told them I had a child and they exchanged such looks. Or, rather, they looked at each other. It was not an exchange, it was as though each was startled and was checking for the other’s reaction. Very odd. I caught them doing the same thing in the ballroom last night.’
‘It is one of them who is plotting and the other suspects them,’ Flynn stated.
‘That is how I read it. But how to establish which it is, I don’t know yet.’ He sighed and ran his hand through his wet hair. ‘Damn it, I had hoped to come home and realise that it was all in my imagination. That I had been sick and brain-fevered and had it out of proportion. Now I fear I was right all along.’
‘So, what is to be done?’ Hunt picked up a fencing foil from the rack in the corner and lunged with it, a straight, killing strike that plucked a flower from the vase on the dresser.
‘Court a bride, watch my relatives and guard my back while I expose it as temptingly as I can.’
‘You marry and you have another life to guard. You get your bride with child and you have two,’ Hunt observed as he shredded a second blameless bloom.
That had occurred to Cal as well. He plucked another flower from the vase and tossed it up for Hunt to skewer in mid-air. ‘The lady would be safe enough until I married her. So I must get to the bottom of this before then, mustn’t I?’
‘And when you do and discover that your uncle or your cousin truly is guilty, what will you do then?’ Hunt’s dark, sardonic face showed nothing but mild curiosity.
Break my heart. ‘I’ll think of something.’
Ralph Thorne might be the one. Sophie passed him a cup of tea and watched covertly while she served the other guests who had called that afternoon. Mama’s At Home days were Tuesday and Friday and there were four ladies gossiping over the Oolong while the three gentlemen who had come in their wake made inroads into the macarons and tried not to look as though they wished they were at their clubs.
Ralph was the fourth, and the only unmarried, man present and he had made it subtly apparent that he was there to see her and not as part of the polite social round. He smiled, a slight curving of his lips, as she turned back to him from the tea tray. He matched every one of her criteria. He was well-bred and even Mama, who rather hoped for a title for her, had no objections to the grandson of a duke. He was certainly comfortably off, intelligent, good-humoured and good-looking, even if he was a paler copy of his cousin Calderbrook.
And, while her heart could not even manage the smallest flutter when she was with him, civilised indifference was definitely a safer basis for a lasting marriage than foolish passion which could only fade with time or be killed with sudden, vicious disillusion. Mr Thorne certainly showed no sign of succumbing to any variety of passion in her presence but he did look as though he might be understanding and forgiving, something a duke could not be when considering marriage.