‘It was old. I need to visit my hatter, but, call me weak-willed, I am not calling in at Lock’s for a new one as we pass.’
‘Here we are, just turning into Park Place now. Thomas, get ready to jump down and knock.’
It seemed an age as they sat in silence waiting for the groom to return, but he came back at last, accompanied by the doctor’s man who, thankfully, seemed to know just how to extract an injured man from a phaeton with the least possible fuss.
‘Stay here and walk the carriage, Thomas.’ Sophie jumped down and followed the men up the steps and into the house.
‘But Miss W – ’ The closing door shut off the groom’s protests.
‘Miss Wilmott, good afternoon.’ Doctor Felbrigg emerged from his study, tugging down his cuffs. ‘This is a surprise. You are not unwell, I trust?’
‘No, I am in perfect health, thank you. But this is the Duke of Calderbrook, Doctor. There was an accident in the park.’
‘Good day to you, sir. I’ve put my shoulder out.’ The Duke… Cal… held out his good hand to the doctor. ‘Miss Wilmott assures me you are the very man to put it back.’
‘Of course. Will you come through, Your Grace? Perkins, make Miss Wilmott comfortable in the drawing room and fetch her refreshments.’ The study door closed firmly behind them.
It all seemed to take a very long time. Sophie sipped too-hot tea. Getting his coat off must be difficult. She nibbled at a biscuit, reducing it to crumbs, and eyed the door, listening. A swear word penetrated two layers of oak and made her blink. Then there was silence again. What horrible things was Doctor Felbrigg doing to Cal? Toby had refused to tell her what putting a shoulder joint back in place involved, but he had looked sick even thinking about it.
Voices in the hall…Thank goodness. The doctor opened the drawing room door and smiled. ‘His Grace is back together again now, Miss Wilmott. As he resides just across St James’s in the square I will send my man for his carriage. Do give my regards to Lord and Lady Elmham.’
‘I am sure the sooner the Duke is back at home the better, Doctor. My carriage is outside.’
‘You should not be seen driving a man about in St James’s, Miss Wilmott. I thank you for your care of me, but I am quite recovered.’ The Duke sauntered out of the study in his shirtsleeves, his right arm strapped to his body and supported by a sling. Otherwise he appeared perfectly restored again, the colour back in his face, the tight lines of agony gone from around his lips and eyes.
‘But – ’
‘The relief of pain once the joint is back in the socket is miraculous. I am quite all right now.’
‘Piffle.’ The doctor gasped, the Duke raised one dark brow. ‘You should be resting and you know it. Goodness knows why men are so stubborn, but you are all the same. And I have yet to hear that a lady, accompanied by her groom, might not drive anywhere in an open carriage in broad daylight with a respectable gentleman at her side.’ Cal opened his mouth and she added sweetly, ‘And you are respectable, Duke, aren’t you?’
He huffed out a breath of laughter as the doctor’s man helped him get into his coat. ‘Oh, eminently, Miss Wilmott. After all, I have not been back in Town long enough to acquire a reputation for being anything else. Shall we go?’
Thomas, looking as disapproving as only an old family retainer could, walked Moonstone up to the front steps and handed the reins over to Sophie. She took them with a word of thanks, tempered by the knowledge that Thomas would tell Parrott, who would most certainly have a word in your ear, my lord, with Step Papa. The worst of it was, she was certain that both he, and Mama, would be delighted to think their daughter had been driving a duke about town when in fact the only reason she was doing it was out of guilt – and concern for any person who was hurt, naturally. The wicked little inner voice gave a sarcastic laugh.
‘What is your address, Duke?’ She crossed St James’s Street at a brisk trot into Little Ryder Street and then turned right into Bury Street. Despite her bravado she did not intend to drive the direct route down St James’s Street with its throngs of club-bound gentlemen and its numerous coffee houses.
‘You know your way around the side streets,’ Cal observed as they negotiated the left turn into King Street past Almack’s assembly rooms.
‘All the better to avoid the traffic in this area. Piccadilly is a dreadful crush most days.’ They emerged into St James’s Square and she slowed Moonstone to a walk.
‘Clockwise round,’ Cal said. ‘The dark green front door. Thank you, Miss Wilmott. I have rarely been involved in a more entertaining traffic accident.’ He got out of the phaeton, his hand lifting automatically to his missing hat. ‘Now, there is a scandal – hatless duke in St James’s. My valet will probably resign on the spot.’
‘Papa!’ A diminutive brunette in a green frock half ran, half tumbled down the steps and hurled herself at Cal, her arms fastening around his leg.
Papa? He is
father to this – what? – five year old? No wonder he was good with that infant in the park. Then the implications hit home. A child meant a wife. And all the time the wretched man had been flirting with her.
‘Isobel.’ Cal scooped up the wriggling armful one-handed and was rewarded with a smacking kiss on his bruised cheek and the application of a pair of thrashing feet to his sore hip. ‘Where is Nanny?’
‘Lost.’ Her big brown eyes, so like her mother’s, widened in a mock innocence. And that had been one of Madeleine’s little tricks too. The child was going to be a handful by the time she was putting her hair up and her skirts down, and he would have to buy himself a shotgun to deal with the young men.
‘You mean you lost her,’ he scolded. ‘Now, behave properly and say good afternoon nicely to Miss Wilmott. Miss Wilmott, Lady Isobel Thorne.’
Now what was wrong? Sophie’s blue gaze had all the warmth of an ice crystal, for all that she smiled at Isobel.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Isobel. I am pleased to have met you, but perhaps you should not run out into the street. Your nanny will be worried about you.’