My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)
Caroline Linden
Prologue
1807
A whisper went around Mrs. Upton’s Academy for Young Ladies soon after tea. A new student had arrived, and she must be of rare family and fortune. One girl caught a glimpse of the carriage waiting outside, glossy black with an escutcheon on the door, and soon the whispers grew fevered: it must be a duke’s pampered daughter, or even a foreign princess.
They were wrong. Twelve--year--old Sophie Graham was an orphan, and she was the granddaughter of Viscount Makepeace, not a duke or a foreign dignitary. She also wanted nothing to do with him, and the viscount returned the feeling in full. Within a week of her arrival at his gloomy manor in Lincolnshire, he’d declared that she must go to school as soon as possible. Now she stood silently in Mrs. Upton’s office, listening as her grandfather tried to browbeat the headmistress into accepting Sophie.
“The trouble is, my lord, I do not usually accept new students midterm,” Mrs. Upton tried to explain. She was a moderately tall woman, fashionably dressed in subdued colors and devoid of embellishment, and she seemed utterly unafraid of Makepeace. Sophie respected her instinctively for that.
“You must. Her parents died of some gutter--borne fever.” He glared at Sophie, who gazed back without expression. “They left nothing for her, but abandoned her to my charity. She needs feminine influence and proper instruction in some decent trade.”
“Sir, we are an academy for young ladies,” replied Mrs. Upton, laying a delicate stress on the last word. “We do not instruct students in trades, but in fine arts and social graces—-”
Makepeace waved this aside. “I don’t care what you teach her. She’s a wild thing, neglected by her no--account parents. I have no use for a hoyden.”
The headmistress glanced at Sophie, who remained still and quiet. She was not a hoyden, and her parents hadn’t neglected her. But she did want very much to be accepted by Mrs. Upton, and so she did not argue with the hateful lies her grandfather was speaking. “My lord, our students come from the finest families in Britain. Our reputation rests on my personal assurance that every young lady here is of the best character and demeanor, in need of the instruction we offer for her future life.”
The viscount barked with angry laughter. “I see your point! My son ran off with an opera singer—-French, no less! Is that what you want to know? Good blood never does mix with common stock. Well, the girl is half wild and there’s nothing to be done about it, but she bears my name and that, madam, is superior to whatever standard you maintain.” He glanced around the understated room in obvious disdain. “Your establishment was recommended to me, and I wish to be done with the business as soon as possible. Name your price.”
Mrs. Upton’s face had grown expressionless during his tirade, but now she took another, more measuring look at Sophie. In the end, something—-either in Sophie’s expression or in her grandfather’s final words—-overcame the headmistress’s doubts. Sophie was sure it was the money. She didn’t blame Mrs. Upton; in fact she hoped the woman extorted an enormous price. Makepeace would pay anything to be rid of her, as she had learned quite explicitly in the three weeks since she’d been left in his care, and she hated him enough to savor him being rooked for every farthing.
“Thirty percent, my lord,” said the headmistress. “For a thirty percent premium on our usual tuition, I believe I can make room for her.”
“Done.” Makepeace reached for his walking stick and heaved himself out of his chair. “Her trunk is outside.”
“Would you care to see the grounds?”
“No.” The viscount led the way to the carriage, where Sophie’s small trunk had already been removed from the boot and left on the gravel drive.
Makepeace yanked on his gloves, his thick white brows bristling in a ferocious scowl. “I’ll pay the tuition until you’re of age,” he growled at Sophie. “Not a moment longer. You’d best try to learn something of value here, for you shan’t be my responsibility.”
“I never asked to be.” She raised her chin and met his stare. “Goodbye.”
He stared at her a moment before giving a contemptuous sniff. “A proud little thing, are you? You’ve no grounds for it. If you didn’t bear my name, you’d be as insignificant as your mother.” The viscount climbed into his carriage and snarled at his coachman to go. The carriage started with a jerk immediately. At no moment did Lord Makepeace look back.
“Let me show you to your dormitory, Miss Graham,” Mrs. Upton said in the awkward silence. The pity in her voice was faint but detectable. Sophie had heard that before, but this time she also heard sympathy. “I’m certain your grandfather will relent once he sees how diligently you work to become accomplished.”
“He won’t. Nothing I ever do will please him, and I’m glad he’s gone.” She watched the carriage pass through the tall iron gates to be certain that he was in fact gone. “I wouldn’t mind if he were waylaid by highwaymen and shot.” She turned her forthright gaze on the shocked headmistress. “Thank you for accepting me, ma’am. I promise to be a very good student.” And she dropped a flawless curtsy, worthy of the finest ballerina in Moscow—-indeed, that was who had taught her.