Chapter Nineteen
Three days later
Christopher paced by the windows in Lord Dowling’s study, wishing the man would arrive.
It had taken too many days to sell the house in Town.
But Mr. Morton had once again proven his worth and sold it for more than Christopher expected.
Now all he had to do was feel confident in his ability to support Sophie, which he was.
“Ah, Lord Tamworth. We’ve been expecting you.”
At the sound of the gruff voice, Christopher turned to find Lord Dowling approaching.
The man was large in his girth and rather short, but he was impeccably dressed, his long sideburns as well as a bushy mustache liberally sprinkled with white trimmed smartly.
“Lord Dowling, thank you for receiving me. I didn’t realize I was expected. ”
The man gestured toward a circle of wingback chairs, and Christopher followed him.
“My wife received a letter from our daughter asking me to grant her hand in marriage. In fact, my wife is even now visiting our daughter, allowing us to discuss this frankly.”
Christopher froze. If Sophie had written her mother, she must be very concerned. “She did? I didn’t know Lady Sophie had done so. I have not spoken to her since she accepted my suit—if you approve, of course.”
The man sat down and crossed his legs. “So, you wish my daughter’s hand in marriage. I must say I was surprised to hear that she had been noticed by you. You are a friend of Lord Durham, are you not?”
That was an area Christopher definitely wished to avoid. “I am, but only when in Town. I have been at Oxford serving as a mentor.”
The man sniffed. “I’m a Cambridge man myself. What was your field of study?”
Christopher’s stomach knotted. The rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford wasn’t just in rowing, but in politics as well. “I became an expert in the ancient classics.”
“Greek or Roman?”
While he was better versed in Greek, he was well aware their government was too close to America’s. “Both, but mostly Roman.”
That earned him a nod from Lord Dowling. “The Romans knew how to conquer the world. A strong civilization.”
“What was your field of study?”
“Moral philosophy and logic.”
The last thing Christopher wished to converse about with his future father-in-law was philosophy. That could go for hours. “Then I hope never to have to debate with you, my lord, as I would surely lose. I tended toward the histories and literature.”
Lord Dowling tugged on his mustache absently. “Then I will guess that is something you have in common with my daughter. How did you meet her?”
Christopher thought of his first meeting with Sophie and quickly ignored it. “I met her while skating at the Marquess of Ferncroft’s.” No need to let the man know he’d fallen into Sophie just before being properly introduced.
“Ah, yes. One of her classmates married Lord Ferncroft. Many of her classmates have done well. To be frank, I’d given up on her when this new school opened. Didn’t think her chances for marriage could be any worse. The blasted girl barely speaks.”
Christopher gritted his teeth, wanting to come to Sophie’s defense. Obviously, she’d been careful around her father.
“So, what are your circumstances? Obviously, my daughter comes with a significant dowry, but not enough to keep her settled without investing the funds.” Lord Dowling squinched his nose as if smelling something putrid when he mentioned investing.
Swallowing his wish to argue that point, Christopher answered as close to the truth as he could. “I have an estate in Daventry. I also received a portion from my father’s legacy.”
“You are the Viscount Tamworth, but you are not a first son?”
“No, that would be my brother. He inherited my father’s estate. He is Lord Sommerset.”
“The lord with the lady painter for a wife?” The man’s eyes grew large, as if having a wife be in great demand as a painter was the most plebeian outcome.
“Yes, that is my brother. But his wife paints as a hobby, like any other well-bred lady. She’s the daughter of the Duke of Mabry.”
“I didn’t know that.” The older man seemed mollified by that information. “So, you have an estate, a portion, and a title. You must be one of those special cases they used to grant back in the day.”
Christopher simply nodded, for to expand upon that would call into question his grandfather’s political intrigue, which lost the family much land.
“And you have feelings for my daughter?” Again, the man’s nose squinched, this time when he said the word feelings.
Though Christopher had come expecting to profess his undying love for Sophie, his instinct was telling him the man would have no use for that, so he changed tack.
“I believe that Sophie would make an excellent viscountess. She is well trained in running a household, has all the appropriate social graces, and is well read, so that I might not be bored at the dinner table when there are no guests to join us.”
Once again, Lord Dowling nodded his approval. “I see you are a man who uses his mind rather than thinking with his heart. That is good. That means you’ll completely understand why I cannot grant your suit.”
The response was so unexpected that Christopher needed clarification. “Excuse me? Did you say you would not grant my suit?”
“That is correct. From where I sit, I can see that my daughter is perfect for a better-situated peer. This school she’s at has obviously brought her attention, or you would not be here.
So, I believe that, given time, despite what she thinks she feels for you, she could marry an earl, preferably with a large estate that can better our standing.
” Lord Dowling rose. “Thank you for bringing to my attention the valuable asset my daughter can be.”
Christopher stood too, forcing himself not to clench his fists. “And if she wishes instead for a caring family and comfortable home, you will deny her that?”
“Of course. Her purpose in life is to bear more sons to carry on her husband’s legacy. She knows this and will be happy when I find her a better match. I wish you good fortune in finding a lady who will carry on your own legacy. Good day.”
Christopher curled his fingers into his palms to keep from shouting as Lord Dowling exited the room without a backward glance.
Furious on behalf of Sophie, but also angry over his own treatment by her father, he remained where he was.
The lack of respect his own father had given him, and then his brother gave him, no matter how unwittingly, combined with Lord Dowling’s, and he lashed out at the closest thing.
He picked up the small table next to him and threw it to the floor, breaking it into four distinct pieces.
Unfortunately, it did little to help his rage.
He stalked toward the doorway, only halting when the butler ran in.
He pointed to the table. “I tripped over that. You might wish to remove it.” Then, brushing by the stunned man, he let himself out and entered his brother’s coach, which he’d borrowed for appearances. “A lot of good that did.”
The door closed behind him as he sat. He cracked the knuckles on both his hands, furious, and yet scared.
He couldn’t lose Sophie. They were perfect for one another, something her father cared little about.
She was no more than a commodity to him, a pawn in his strategy for even better social standing.
It left Christopher with only one choice—Gretna Green.
Sophie deserved so much more than that, but if she was willing, they’d travel to Scotland so she could be his wife.
He’d never been one to bow down to Society, skirting the edges with polite manners and a title, but Sophie was worth far more to him.
At least she would think with her heart and not with her father’s damned logic.
*
Sophie stopped talking as Mrs. Kingman rose. “Lady Dowling.”
Standing up, Sophie turned around to find her mother smiling as she walked briskly toward her, her hands extended. “My sweet Sophie. I just had to come.”
“Mother.” She took her hands and squeezed them before her mother pulled her over to the settee, completely ignoring Mrs. Kingman. Immediately, she sensed something was terribly wrong. Her mother was never so rude or so animated. She looked to Mrs. Kingman.
Her mentor quickly walked out, signaling that all was well.
“Lord Tamworth? My dear, I cannot tell you how pleased I am.”
Sophie turned back to face her mother. “Thank you, but I thought you would be home convincing Father it’s a good match.”
Her mother finally released her hand to wave away her comment. “No need to sway your father. He will approve. He has to. It’s not every day we have someone asking for your hand, now, is it?”
“No, that’s true, but Father is very particular, too.” The concern Sophie had felt the moment she saw her mother grew.
“Yes, well, he can be, but I’m quite sure he will readily accept Lord Tamworth’s suit, and here we had thought it might be a vicar or a scholar.”
Her mother was acting strangely. In fact, she seemed rather highly strung, as if on the verge of hysteria. Lady Dowling was always calm—at the most, she fidgeted. This was a completely different person, almost like Shakespeare’s distraught Ophelia in Hamlet after her father’s death.
Sophie needed to understand. “Mother, your last visit, you suggested Lord Wilford.”
Her mother patted her hand frantically. “Yes, yes, but this is so much better. This viscount cares about you, and you him. It’s a love story. I couldn’t be more relieved—I mean pleased.”
As Lady Dowling clasped her hands together, Sophie felt real fear. “What’s wrong, Mother? You’re never like this.”
“I’m just happy for you. You’re my daughter and I always wanted you to be happy. I feared…”
“What did you fear?”
Her mother suddenly stood as if her agitation made her move, and she did, striding to the window and back, then to the window once again.