Jilting the Duke Read Free

her nerves, she stood at the open doors of her balcony. Below her, the pale green grass darkened into deep shadows below the oaks, yews, and alders, and past her yard, several houses over, a statue of Flora, goddess of flowers, stood on top of a conservatory of iron and glass. Hers had become a circumscribed life, and one Tom would not praise. The house, the garden, the park with Ian, the vista from her window, they had become the whole of her world. It was a stark contrast to their life in Italy, filled with laughter and sparkling conversation. But Tom’s death had stolen her ability to talk brightly about nothings with near strangers. She had no idea how to broaden her circles, or even if she wished to. Just as with the dress, she was caught in limbo. She didn’t know how to change, or even if she could.
    She touched the small key worn on a ribbon around her neck, a reminder of her unfulfilled promises to Tom that weighed increasingly heavy on her heart. Breathing in slowly, she turned and left her room.
    As she walked down the back staircase to the library, she tried to imagine the reason for Aldine’s visit. The newspapers were filled with parliamentary debates on the stability of the Bank of England and its monetary policies, alongside stories of how vast family fortunes had been lost in a single day to volatile investments.
    What if their money were gone?
    The idea knocked the breath from her chest. She pressed her hand against the cool plaster wall. Would she lose the house and the estate? The London house was her refuge, Tom’s gift, allowing her to live in town rather than on his country estate, with her uncle and his prim wife for neighbors. But if it were a choice, she’d keep the estate. It was Ian’s future.
    But both? What if there were nothing left? To be reliant on the narrow kindness of relatives was something she’d sworn she would never do again. But for Ian, she would reconcile with the Devil . . . or her brother Phineas. She preferred the Devil.
    The image of Aidan standing in moonlight rose before her. She shook it off. She would do what she had to do. She always had.
    If the problem weren’t their finances, then had someone learned their secret? But why take the information to Aldine, and not to her? To know, they would have to have the papers....
    She had to know. She entered the library and pulled the key from beneath her chemise. Kneeling behind the partner desk she had shared with Tom, she pressed a latch hidden in the elaborately carved paneling. A panel moved to the side, revealing the door to a hidden compartment. She unlocked the door, holding her breath. The papers—and the hair she had placed over them—appeared untouched.
    Suddenly tired to her bones, Sophia spoke to Tom’s portrait, hanging above the fireplace, “You promised me all would be well. But after last night . . . after seeing him . . . I don’t know how it can be.”
    When her solicitor arrived, he handed her a letter in Tom’s hand, and she found that she had been completely wrong about how bad the possibilities could be. The truth was much, much worse.
    * * *
    Aidan stepped from his bath and rubbed a towel over his chest and upper arms.
    â€œYou’d enjoy rake’s hours more if you spent them on the town, your grace.” Barlow smiled at Aidan’s scowl. “I’m sure Cook would be delighted to concoct another sleeping posset. She says she knows what went wrong last time. Her newest recipe, she promises, will have you sleeping like a condemned man.”
    â€œIf I risk Cook’s remedies, I will be a condemned man. I prefer to lie awake until morning, then sleep until noon. I find it less damaging to my bowels than Cook’s remedies.”
    â€œI think, your grace, you have simply lost your nerve.” Barlow chuckled.
    Aidan threw the towel at the back of Barlow’s head. But his old sergeant turned and caught it. “You won’t be