Page 59 of Dukes for Dessert

She wondered if Eleanor sometimes had to dress herself quickly after a night of debauchery, and so knew exactly what Sophie would need. The way the duke and duchess regarded each other when they thought no one watched told her this was the case.

Eleanor sent Sophie a broad smile when she entered the breakfast room. Hart was there, engrossed in a newspaper. His two sons ate with robust appetites and only a modicum of arguing—they were far too busy shoveling in food for brotherly conversation.

Hart gave Sophie a welcoming nod, as he did every morning, then returned to his paper. The boys shouted their greetings, and young Alec rose to hold a chair for her.

Ian and Beth Mackenzie had spent the night, and were at the breakfast table, Ian reading alongside Hart. Beth’s greeting shared Eleanor’s knowing smile, to Sophie’s discomfiture. Ian continued reading without glancing up, but Sophie knew he was in no way trying to be rude.

Of David, there was no sign.

“Mr. Fleming raced away to Shropshire this morning,” Eleanor said, placidly buttering her bread. “Your uncle sent him a telegram.”

“Oh.” Sophie accepted the coffee a footman poured her, and young Malcolm brought her toast. “Thank you,” she said to them both.

“Dr. Pierson sent you a telegram as well.” Eleanor pulled a small envelope from her pocket. “Well, it was the same telegram, as your uncle no doubt wanted to save the expense of sending two identical ones. He seems to believe he’d find the two of you in one place.”

Sophie’s face went hot, and Eleanor’s eyes glinted with good humor as she handed over the paper.

Sophie opened it and scanned its contents. Uncle Lucas had indeed been economical: Amazing developments. You must come. L.P.

Her agitation grew—Uncle did not dispense telegraph messages without cause. “I must go, then,” she said, half rising.

“After breakfast,” Eleanor advised. “David has already gone to calm him. There’s a train at ten.”

“David—I mean, Mr. Fleming—could not wait until ten?” Sophie resumed her seat and carefully spread butter across her toast, moving the knife to all corners.

“Hadn’t you better call him David now?” Eleanor asked with her unnerving candor. “He decided to go ahead of you, and I agreed with him. Do not be alarmed. All will be well.”

Beth, next to Eleanor, nodded agreement.

Hart was obviously listening to the conversation—his eyes had become fixed on the page—and now he lowered the newspaper and pinned Sophie with his golden gaze. “David is my closest friend. He needs happiness, no matter how much he pretends to deny it.” His expression softened. “I am grateful to you for giving it to him.”

Sophie set down her toast, untasted. “I’ve done nothing.”

“Don’t rush them, Hart.” Eleanor put her elbows on the table and raised a cup to her lips. “And you call me an impatient matchmaker.”

“Because you are.” Hart sent her a look that heated the air. “A confounded interfering busybody.”

Eleanor put out her tongue at him. “But a successful one.”

Hart gave her another scorching glance, then a pointed one at Sophie before returning to his newspaper. The lads were quiet, watching the adults with interest.

Ian laid down his paper with a quiet rustle and met Sophie’s gaze without a flicker.

“You are good for him,” he said. “There is also a train at half past eight.”

Ian studied her for a moment longer, then gave a nod, as though he’d finished, and went back to his paper.

Beth watched her husband with love in her eyes. “I can help you pack your things,” she offered to Sophie.

Sophie gulped coffee and clattered the cup to its saucer. She had no appetite, and her feet urged her to run, run, run, all the way to Shropshire, where David waited.

She rose, her chair banging. “No need for packing. I have things at Uncle’s. Thank you, Eleanor, for your kind invitation. Could you have a hansom summoned for me?”

All but Ian looked up at her, every face interested.

“Hart’s coach should be at the front door momentarily,” Eleanor said. “I’d anticipated you’d want to go at once, and hansoms can be unsavory. You’d best be off, my dear. Do greet your uncle for me.”

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