Page 52 of Dukes for Dessert
Eleanor stopped, as surprised as Sophie. “David, what are you doing here? The majordomo didn’t announce you. Did you slide in under the moldings?”
David gave her a bow. “I bade your good man not to say a word. I was afraid neither of you would darken the door if you knew I lurked. I had rushed to London to visit McBride about my own situation, and he declared himself on his way to visit you. Naturally, I invited myself along. He has news.”
Sinclair shot him a look. “They likely discerned that from my presence alone.”
“Tell her.” David folded his arms and stepped back, rocking restlessly on his feet.
Sinclair opened a case that lay on the table next to him and withdrew a long document, folded lengthwise. “I am pleased to inform you that Lord Devonport has been granted an annulment to his marriage to Miss Sophie Tierney. The marriage is declared invalid and nonexistent, and both parties are at liberty to marry another if they so choose.”
Sophie’s jaw loosened, and the next thing she knew, she was in a chair, Eleanor and David on either side of her. David shoved a glass under her nose, and Sophie inhaled the sharp bite of whisky.
“Drink it,” David advised. “Trust me. Down it in one go.”
David had to steady the glass for her, but Sophie obeyed. Whisky filled her mouth, and she forced herself to swallow. Liquid burned fire down her throat but it settled her roiling stomach and let her draw a breath, her vision clearing.
Sinclair gazed upon her in sympathy. “Forgive me for springing it on you so abruptly, Miss Tierney. Barristers can be sharp, so my wife likes to tell me.” His expression softened a long way when he said my wife.
“Not at all.” Sophie tried to speak briskly, but her voice was breathy and wrong. “I needed to know. But … are you certain? Laurie—or rather, his solicitors—told me he could not annul the marriage, and that divorce was the only way he could be rid of me.”
David’s hand tightened on hers before she realized he’d been holding it. Warm, anchoring David.
“I’d never have brought this to you if I weren’t certain.” Sinclair held up the papers and then laid them carefully on a table. “The marriage has been annulled on the grounds of physical incapacity.”
Sophie blinked. “Physical …” Bile touched her throat, and she longed for another gulp of the whisky. “You mean my inability to carry a child.”
“By no means—”
David cut off Sinclair’s gentle answer. “Not on your part, love. On Lackwit Laurie’s. The evidence finds your husband incapable of siring an heir, a spare, a daughter, or anything else. Of completing the act at all. His soldier is always at ease, and by about … oh, now … several unscrupulous journalists will be announcing this fact to the world, using very circumspect wording and no names so they can’t be charged with libel.”
Sophie’s mouth hung open again. She shut it with a snap. “You did this,” she said rapidly to David. “You did all this.”
“I did.” David raised her hand to his lips, then he released her. “I am a monster. You may hate me for the rest of your life for making a complete fool of your husband and a mockery of your marriage. But I would do it again.” His voice turned hard. “What matters is that you are free of him—free to choose your life, without a shadow of disgrace.”
“Annulment is still a scandal,” Sophie said, voice weak.
“Usually, yes,” Eleanor’s brisk tones broke in. “But with your husband declared impotent, it means that, in the eyes of the world, you are untouched, unsullied. Perhaps unwise in your choice to marry him in the first place, but everyone knows about Lackwit Laurie. He’s a charmer with nothing behind the charm. You will be quite forgiven, and also unstained.”
“But he isn’t …” Sophie swallowed and turned a dazed face to Sinclair. “Laurie isn’t …”
Sinclair held up his hand. “Say nothing. Never, ever say anything about it again, Miss Tierney, especially not to a man of law. Accept the verdict and carry on.”
“Best way,” Eleanor agreed.
Sophie swung to her, suspicions sharpening. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew what David was up to.”
“Well, of course.” Eleanor looked serene. “He asked for my help. I thought it a delicious scheme and naturally agreed. I will not explain all the underhandedness, but you did not deserve to be married to that awful man, and as David says, I would do it again. Though I am not as contrite as he appears to be at the moment. Ladies can be much more ruthless than gentlemen, I always say.”
They had all known. Sophie’s gaze went from one to the other—Sinclair with compassion but warning caution, Eleanor gleeful, David grim. David had known the entire situation would disconcert her, but he had no regret over his part.
Somehow Mr. Fleming had convinced a barrister, a slew of solicitors, and a judge of the courts that the Earl of Devonport was incapable of performing in bed. How David had proved such a thing, Sophie could not fathom, nor was she certain she wanted to.
He was duplicitous and determined—that much she understood. Somehow David had threatened Laurie enough that Laurie had agreed to the annulment and set Sophie free.
Sophie rose, her limbs stiff. David caught her arm, ready to assist, but she slid away from him, finding strength once more.
“I thank you, sir,” she said, surprised her voice was steady. “You have done me a great service.”
David’s eyes flickered with pain. “It was my most profound pleasure.” His throat moved in a swallow. “You deserve to be happy, Sophie. To have that chance.”
