Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“That is a fine tale, indeed. Tell me, Roxanne, will you still think he’s using me when I marry him?”

Leah ran to the door, her laughter floating after her. She jerked it open, and Sophie nearly fell into her.

43

Well, isn’t this charming.” Leah smacked Sophie’s shoulder, nearly sending her to the floor. “Look at you, your ear pressed to the door like a silly little girl. You are a disgrace, Sophie Colette Wilkie. What would Bethanne say, were she here? I hope she would be appalled as I am. She didn’t raise you well, that is certain.”

Rage overrode guilt. “My mother was the best mother in the whole world, Leah. Look at you, all mean in the mouth, so miserable at having to live with yourself that you must make everyone else miserable, including your poor dead husband, which is why he never stayed at home. I should run away, too, if I had to live with you. My innards fair to shrivel to think of you as my mother.”

“You ridiculous girl, I am too young, far too young, to be your mother. I look like your sister, your beautiful sister. My husband did not run away. He had to leave to do his duty. Naturally, I was unhappy. You would be, too, if your husband was bound to duty and couldn’t spend time with his very young wife. I did not chase him away. He had the gall to get himself drowned.

“How dare you call me mean! I always speak only the truth, something you are too mealymouthed to do. But that isn’t important now, because there is Richard. He is everything Lord Merrick was not. He is honorable and amusing and very handsome. He doesn’t have those ridiculous whiskers on his face. He adores me, but I will tell you, Julian will never adore you. He will never marry you, either, even though his mother has begged him to. He thinks you’re a useless little girl. He sees you as you really are, Sophie—a spoiled child prancing around in a lady’s gown.”

I don’t prance, Aunt Leah, and I am not spoiled. But Sophie swallowed the useless denials. She said with a smile, “You don’t think I, your niece, deserve to be adored like you, Aunt Leah?”

It left Leah with her mouth open, so frustrated she wanted to slap Sophie. She got herself back together and attacked. “You don’t really want Julian, though, do you? Oh, yes, it’s Devlin you want, the future duke, not the paltry second son. Oh, yes, now I see clearly. Well, my girl, that is shooting for the stars, now, isn’t it? If anything, Devlin Monroe will dally with you until you bore him, then he’ll move on to his next conquest. Your only chance to get yourself a husband is to return to London and try to snag some unsuspecting baron’s son. Maybe he will adore you.”

“That is a lovely thought, Aunt Leah. Thank you for making everything so very clear. What should also be clear to you is that Roxanne told you the truth. Richard Langworth sought you out purposefully so he could get himself close to Julian. If you do not see that, you are a dolt.”

“Roxanne has been jealous of me all her life. What I had, she wanted. Does she want Richard? Come, now, Sophie, think. How could he even know to purposefully seek me out? He was in York on business for his father, he told me. He did not know I was related to you. He had no reason to suspect you, of all girls, would be sent to London to try to attach Julian Monroe.”

Sophie said, “He found out about all of us from his father, who was undoubtedly told the particulars by the duchess. She had no reason not to confide in Baron Purley, since she had known him all her adult life. You have been taken in, Leah. Richard Langworth does not care about you; you are merely a means to an end.”

“You little bitch!” Leah slapped Sophie hard.

She heard a noise and whirled around to see Roxanne standing behind her. “You, too, Roxanne. That I should have to be related to the two of you. It quite turns my stomach!”

Roxanne and Sophie stood side by side, Sophie rubbing her cheek, watching Leah race down the long corridor away from them.

“Did she really bring Richard Langworth into her bedchamber last night, Roxanne?”

Roxanne nodded. “I knew what would happen if I warned her, I knew, yet some perverse devil inside me told me it was my duty to tell her. I wish you had not been close by, Sophie.”

Sophie shrugged. “She hates both of us, what does it matter? Did she also hate my mother? What is wrong with her, Roxanne?”

“When we were children, Leah and I made a pact to cut each other’s hair. I snipped off one of her small golden curls that was sticking out. She cut off all my hair, stood back, and laughed. She said now I wouldn’t look so common. She was only nine years old. You were right, she has a mean mouth. But I don’t think she hates any of us, your mother included.”

“You’re wrong. I wonder if Richard Langworth will come to realize that whatever revenge he is planning is not worth the misery once he gets to know her. Once she turns her mean mouth on him. Once she’s netted him. Do you really think she will marry him?”

“Maybe they deserve each other. Sophie, am I a prude?”

“You? Oh, indeed, you are so prudish I fear you will attend Methodist meetings and wear only black to your throat. I fear you will denounce all those who dance the waltz.”

Sophie laughed at Roxanne, patted her cheek, and danced away. She called out over her shoulder, still laughing, “A prude!”

Leah slowly straightened and made her way down the wide staircase. What did those two twits know about anything? Her palm still tingled from the slap she’d given Sophie. It was about time someone disciplined the chit.

Richard was using her? If only they knew.

44

Julian pulled Cannon up in front of the Brazen Crow, handed the reins to Homer, an ancient stump of a man. “Prince,” Homer said, and tried a sketchy bow. “Ah, dear old Cannon. Ye come wit’ me and I’ll stuff yer gullet with nice big carrots, fresh picked from Mrs. Casper’s garden.”

Julian pressed coins in Homer’s hand and asked, “Is the earl here, Homer?”

“Yes, the lad is drinking Mr. McGurdy’s cider, hard enough to make ’is liver shout and sing.”

Julian was still grinning when he saw Devlin seated in the taproom, one leg draped over a chair arm, laughing at something the barmaid, Briggie, was telling him. She was bending low as she spoke, her lovely eighteen-year-old breasts nearly spilling onto Devlin’s chest. Odd, Devlin wasn’t eyeing those breasts of hers, he was looking directly into her face. He would have normally, wouldn’t he? He’d bedded Briggie before, Julian knew. What was different now?