My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(36)
She drew breath to answer, then went still, her eyes focusing on him with renewed wariness. “She was French,” she said in the light tone he’d come to recognize as a diversionary tactic. Jack guessed there was more objection to her mother than being French, but he let it go. For now.
“Not Parisian, although I’ve no idea if that would have been better or worse. She came from Nice,” added Mrs. Campbell.
“One supposes it didn’t matter, given her inability to be the English girl who lived nearby.”
She laughed. “Precisely! And in all honestly, I don’t think there’s any pleasing my grandfather. He would have found something to disapprove of regardless of whom Papa married.”
“One of that sort, is he?”
“When I was a child, I nicknamed him the Ogre,” she replied with a cheeky wink.
Jack laughed even as he tucked the fact away in his mind. She’d said her parents died when she was twelve; had her grandfather done something on their deaths to earn her enmity? It wouldn’t be unheard--of for a man to cast off an unwanted grandchild, particularly one from a marriage he had opposed. Perhaps Mrs. Campbell had learned to look out for herself from an early age. And then her husband appeared to have been a useless fellow as well, which would only have made her more independent. Who was this woman? Jack was beginning to wonder why she seemed to have no connections at all.
“Since you were not able to excavate your own family attics, I am pleased to offer you mine,” he said instead, making a half bow. “Your grandfather sounds much like my great--grandfather.”
“The one who exiled his wife here?” She dusted a clean spot on the windowsill and rested her elbow against it as she settled more comfortably on the old settee. The breeze stirred the loose wisps of hair at her temple, almost as if a lover’s gentle fingers stroked it. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t think he cared for her, nor she for him.” One tendril curled around her jaw, teasing the corner of her mouth. Jack was mesmerized by it, and in the dim attic felt at full liberty to stare.
“One wonders why either agreed to wed the other.”
He smiled without amusement. “It was an advantageous match for both. The Dukes of Ware don’t wed for trifling matters like affection.”
“No?” She seemed genuinely surprised, tilting her head to face him. “Never?”
Jack thought of Portia. He would have married her, as mad in love as he’d thought himself, and it would have been a disaster. “Not to my knowledge.”
“And here I thought a wealthy, powerful duke could do as he pleased, wed whom he chose, and no one could say him nay.” She shook her head in mock sadness. “Instead you’re required to wed a piece of land or a sum of money rather than a person.”
His mouth thinned in irritation. “Hardly required.”
“Oh.” She gazed at him, wide--eyed. “Each generation chooses to marry for purely financial reasons, then.”
“I’ve not married anyone,” he said. “Obviously.” She lowered her eyes and smiled. Too late he realized she’d only been tweaking him. He let out his breath and stared out the window. He could just see her face from the corner of his eye. “I expect I have as much freedom to marry as you do.”
Her head came up. “What does that mean?”
Ah, a hit. He lifted one shoulder. “You’re an independent widow, able to do as you please and with no one to say you nay.”
“Except when I wish to go home,” she said with a pointed glance. “Do you think your ancestors were happy, wedding for dynastic reasons?”
“Happy? I have no idea. Satisfied? I believe so. One presumes they found . . . delight in other places.” He knew they had. His ancestors were fiendishly organized men, and Jack had seen the records of gifts for mistresses and lovers. His grandfather had kept a house in London specifically for trysts, with instructions to the housekeeper to turn the mattress and place fresh linens on the bed every day.
“My parents loved each other very much,” she said softly. “They found delight in each other. Perhaps more practical marriages would have yielded more wealth or property, but I believe nothing could have matched their happiness.”
“Is that what you want?”
She met his eyes. “Would you believe it if I said yes?”
“I—-” He stopped, remembering how he’d accused her of trying to attach a wealthy husband. “I would.”
For a moment she didn’t reply. Then a smile crossed her face, and her tone turned light again. “It would be wonderful, but that sort of match seems very rare.”
That didn’t answer the question. Not that it should matter to him who or why she married, so long as she didn’t set her sights on Philip. Which she’d already denied in convincing terms. So what sort of man was she looking for? Jack cleared his throat, wondering how the hell he’d got into this conversation anyway. “Shall we explore the other side of the house while the light is still good?”
She was on her feet before he finished the question. “By all means.”
Sophie thought she might be losing her mind. How on earth had she got into a discussion of love and marriage with the duke?
It must be the dark, warm atmosphere of the attics, softening her wits. Or perhaps it was the decades of family history all around her, something she had never had in her life and secretly craved. The thought of finding her mother’s childhood doll or her father’s first music book made her feel uncharacteristically sentimental. Surely that explained why she had told him, of all people, about her parents’ romantic but illicit marriage. Only Eliza and Georgiana knew about that, yet somehow she’d opened her mouth and told the Duke of Ware.