Scandal by Carolyn Jewel Page B

told him you were home.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. “The Duke of Vedaelin?”
    â€œHe admires you, I tell you. Just think of it, Sophie!”
    â€œHe’s a duke.”
    â€œGet dressed. Wear that green striped gown. It’s the best you’ve got, and the color flatters your eyes. He’s already got his heir, Sophie. He is free to marry for love, and last night at Cavendish Square ... I promise you, I am not the only man to have remarked he was taken with you.”
    â€œHe’s old enough to be my father, John. He’s not interested in me.”
    â€œHe is, I tell you.” He tweaked her nose again. “Now get dressed.”
    She pushed her brother away. “Be gone.”
    â€œAnd do something with your hair.”
    â€œVery well, John.” She made a shooing gesture. “Go.”
    â€œChange your slippers, too.”
    â€œGo.” She called Flora and swapped her dress for her green striped afternoon frock, even remembering at the last minute to change her slippers and tie a green ribbon in her hair. Then she went below stairs and met with the cook before she proceeded to the parlor. What if John was right and the Duke of Vedaelin wanted to court her? She wasn’t sure what to think of that.
    A servant brought in tea and cakes purchased from the confectioner’s down the street and laid out the table. Sophie was glad to busy herself brewing tea. John’s words made her look at the duke differently, and she wasn’t best pleased with her brother because of it. She did find Vedaelin more than a little attractive, though. He didn’t look at all his age. He might easily pass for ten years younger. He was a sensible man. Levelheaded. A bit proud, but then he was a duke, after all.
    â€œI should like to add my thanks, Your Grace, to my brother’s, for securing us such a lovely house,” she said when she’d dropped sugar into his tea.
    â€œI’m pleased if you like it, Mrs. Evans.”
    â€œWe like it very well, thank you.”
    â€œMercer,” the duke said. “What plans have you to show your sister the sights?”
    â€œSights?” John said.
    Sophie hurried to fill John’s puzzled silence. “We’ve only just arrived, Your Grace,” she said. “We’ve not had time to think of seeing anything.”
    â€œHave you not been to Bond Street yet?” Vedaelin smiled at them both. “If my memory is accurate, young women adore shopping.”
    â€œI’m most unnatural then,” Sophie said. She kept her cup and saucer perfectly balanced. “I find shopping tedious.”
    John polished off his second iced cake. “My sister is more likely to make the nearest subscription library her second home.”
    â€œIndeed?” the duke said. Sophie couldn’t tell if he approved of women who read or not. She’d not be able to write if she were married to him. The wife of a duke could never engage in something so undignified.
    â€œI’m sure you’ll be impressed with me,” she said, hiding her thoughts behind a sip of her tea. She smiled when she lowered her cup. “This morning, after you left, John, I walked as far as Oxford Street and admired the buildings along the way.” Henrietta Street backed onto Oxford Street, so she hadn’t been adventurous at all. “After having seen your home, Your Grace, I’m determined to learn something of architecture. Your home is lovely.”
    â€œThank you.” He looked pleased at that, and so did John. She was proud of herself for managing the change of subject so deftly.
    â€œHas there been further word of Napoleon?” she asked. The duke could not possibly care to hear of her reading habits, and if he was not the sort of man who cared for women who read, then it was best to avoid that subject. “Is it true Napoleon is in Paris already?”
    â€œAh,” Vedaelin said. His cup clicked against his