Epilogue
Alexander circled the theater box, glancing at the stage with little interest. He didn’t really like the theater, but Sophie preferred it to the opera, which she likened to torture.
Lord and Lady Canterbell had joined them this evening, as well as Mara and Lord Caster, who if Lady Canterbell had her way, would be betrothed soon.
Violet and Rose, along with Lady Falmouth, rounded out the evening.
Damon, however, had declined the invitation, citing a previous engagement.
Probably not the last time his uncle would decline to join him.
He and Damon had butted heads continuously, as of late.
Alexander tried for patience, but Damon was having a great deal of difficulty letting go of the control he’d exerted over every aspect of Alexander’s life for nearly three decades.
Lady Falmouth offered to speak to Damon on Alexander’s behalf, but considering how his uncle felt about her, that was a poor idea, though he appreciated the effort.
Damon continued to insert himself into every business transaction involving Alexander’s estates and other financial matters. His uncle refused to compromise. The final straw was when Timmons let Damon into Alexander’s study and he found his uncle going over a ledger he had no business reviewing.
Timmons was sacked. Sophie took care of the matter herself and sent for Barstow. Two butlers were unnecessary.
Perhaps Lady Letitia, the Marquess of Dunhill’s daughter, would distract Damon from further interference. The gossips said his uncle was courting her, though Damon hadn’t admitted as much. But every politician needs a wife to further his ambitions, after all.
“Your Grace, there you are.” His Sophie slid her arm through his as a pleased Lord and Lady Canterbell watched in approval.
Alexander pulled her to his side, already considering the things he would do to her later, all of which she would allow. “What do you think of the performance, Lady Saffron?”
“A bit overblown.” Sophia gave him a swat of her fan. “A dead rodent appears to have taken up residence beneath the leading man’s nose.”
“Terrible thing.” He squeezed her tight. “But I must agree. The mustache is atrocious. Perhaps you can swat me with that thing later, you naughty chit.”
“Alexander,” she whispered, making round eyes at Lord and Lady Canterbell. “My parents are here. Behave.”
“Never.”
A commotion started at the entrance to the box as a woman, clad in a gown of dark indigo at least two seasons out of date, pushed her way in and marched up to Alexander. She was pretty. Somewhat matronly. He’d never seen her before in his life.
“You.” She pointed with one gloved finger.
“Me?” He and Sophie exchanged a look. “I’m sorry, but have we been introduced?”
“You vile—I knew you were a libertine. A rogue. But even for you, this is beyond the pale. It isn’t as if you need the money. Good lord.”
“Former libertine.” He held up his glass of well-watered wine. “And sot. But I am enormously wealthy, thank you for noticing. Would you like some lemonade? Miss…?”
She flushed a deep red, glancing around the box, tugging at the lace edging her gown that had seen better days.
Something Alexander always noticed. Clothing.
After all, he considered dressing well to be one of his better character traits.
Possibly the only one. Sophia had lately taken to calling him a sniveling dandy, but it wasn’t nearly as arousing as feckless sot.
His duchess, fierce and terrible—
Oh, I adore her.
—stalked forward, placing herself between Alexander and this incredibly brazen woman like a shield. He found it adorable the way Sophia wanted to protect him from the world.
I love her madly.
“Who, may I ask, do you think you are to invade the Duke of Roxboro’s box during a performance of—” she snapped her fingers at Alexander.
“A Cousin’s Request,” he supplied, delighted she’d come to his defense like an avenging Valkyrie.
“Yes, well, the play is terrible.” Her brows drew together. “I’d forgotten the name. But I,” she took a step towards the woman, who was now eyeing her with a great deal of trepidation, because his duchess was something of a menace. “Would like yours. I’m the Duchess of Roxboro. Who might you be?”
The woman made a sound of distress. Not at Sophia, but Alexander. Her gaze was fixated on the end of Alexander’s nose. She shook her head, muttering to herself, then took a step back. “Impossible.”
“Louder,” Sophia demanded. “No muttering in the duke’s box.”
Good lord, she was magnificent. Alexander was becoming highly aroused. First the fan and then this. He might tell Barstow to give the staff the night off.
“I think I’ve made a mistake,” she said slowly. “But…” The woman’s eyes never left Alexander’s nose. “There’s no freckle. There’s no freckle,” she said louder. “Do you have it covered?”
“I what?” Alexander stared down at her, the pieces slowly coming together.
The woman looked at Sophia. “But how can there be two of them? You are the Duke of Roxboro. There’s only one and he said…” Her words trailed away, a stricken look coming over her pretty features. “I’ve—please excuse me.”
“You’ve seen him.” Sophia grabbed the woman’s arm. “The man who pretends to be the Duke of Roxboro. Because that,” she pointed at Alexander. “Is my husband and I can most definitely confirm he has no freckle on his nose. Or anywhere else on his person.”
Lady Canterbell made a sound, hand clutching her throat.
Glorious, my duchess.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Alexander commanded in his most ducal tone. “Until you tell us who is going about London claiming to be me.”