The Duke's Wife

By Stephanie Howard

ROYAL AFFAIR

The Duchess's dilemma

Duty ruled Damiano's life: duty to his country, his people and his baby son, but not, Sofia thought, to his wife. She knew that her wedding to the Duke of San Rinaldo had been just a matter of convenience, but it appeared that even his old flames figured more highly than her. Now, to end the rumours about their marriage, Damiano was insisting that they convince the world that theirs was a love match.

It seemed that Sofia had gotten what she had always wanted a "devoted" husband by her side but would this fairy–tale romance ever have a real happy ending?

Romancing a royal was easy, marriage another affair!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460866030

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

SOFIA leaned against the window and gazed down into the palace gardens, where the first buds of spring were starting to break through. And she smiled, for on the path that led down to the lake she could see Alessandro, her sixteen-month-old son, being pushed in his pram by Alice, the royal nanny. A warm glow touched her heart. No doubt, she reflected, they were on their way to say hello to the swans, little Alessandro’s current passion. She would join them in the nursery later to hear all about it. Then she sighed. But first there was the meeting with Damiano to get through.

At that thought Sofia felt a quick dart of apprehension, and as she straightened, frowning, her head was caught in sunlight. A pale, oval face with perfect regular features—wide grey-blue eyes, sensitive and intelligent, short feminine nose, full soft-lipped mouth—and a frame of glorious red-gold hair that fell in a rippling cascade to her shoulders and made a wonderful dramatic contrast with the peacock-blue of her wool dress.

It was no wonder that Sofia, the young Duchess of San Rinaldo, was renowned throughout the world for her beauty, though, had such a thing been possible, she would without a second thought have traded the glorious gift of her beauty, plus all the fabulous wealth and privileges that were hers, if only she could have had the one precious prize that eluded her.

There was a sudden sound behind her, then a deep male voice spoke.

‘I see you got here before me. I trust you haven’t been waiting long?’

‘Only a couple of minutes.’ Sofia did not turn round. Her heart had crashed inside her at the sound of that voice and she needed a couple of seconds to drive the emotion from her face. ‘I was just watching Alessandro on his way down to the lake.’

‘He’ll be going to see the swans.’ Damiano, as he spoke, came to stand a few feet away from her at the window. He glanced outside as the child and his nanny disappeared between the trees. ‘I reckon his first word is going to be swans, not Mama or Papa like other children.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’

At last, Sofia turned to look at him, her features composed, her expression serene again, though, as she looked into her husband’s eyes, a familiar sadness touched her heart. Once, he had been the centre of her very existence and, more than likely, she would always love him, in spite of her efforts to stop. But at least she no longer loved him with the helpless desperation of before, with a love so self-annihilating and all-consuming that it had almost felt like a kind of madness. And it would have driven her mad, too, in the end, if she had not conquered it, for the tragedy was that Damiano had never loved her.

He was looking back at her with those eyes as black as midnight. Fierce, beautiful eyes, the mirror of a passionate and ruthless soul, that were softened now with the warmth of his love for his son.

‘Shall we sit?’

As he spoke, Damiano turned away from the window and was gesturing in the direction of a group of chairs and sofas which were arranged round the huge fireplace where a log fire flickered. For it was the middle of February and even here in San Rinaldo, the sun-drenched little dukedom on the edge of the Mediterranean, the late afternoons could be a little chilly. The flicker of the flames brought a warm glow to the room with its imposing oil paintings, fine French furniture and colourful Persian rugs strewn about the floor.

‘Let’s make ourselves a little more comfortable,’ he smiled.

‘Of course.’

That smile caused a momentary warm glow to touch Sofia’s heart. There was much harshness in his character—he could be so unforgiving—but that rare smile, which always surprised, had a potent magic. Though Sofia was not taken in, of course. She knew why he had smiled and it was not because he derived any pleasure from her company. He was simply keeping her sweet, anxious to avoid any unpleasantness, for these days their rare encounters teetered on a knife-edge of civility and he was clearly anxious to ensure there was no unpleasantness this afternoon.

Not that he need worry, Sofia reflected. She had grown to be quite an expert at keeping her emotions under control. Still, as she crossed to one of the blue damask armchairs and sat down, watching him from beneath her lashes as he seated himself in the armchair opposite, she felt another quick dart of apprehension. For what purpose had he summoned her here?

Her eyes flickered over his dark-eyed face with its wide, sensuous mouth, sculpted jawline and strong curved nose—that unmistakable Montecrespi nose, proud, aristocratic, almost hawk-like, which could be seen in the scores of portraits of his ancestors that hung in their gilt frames from the palace walls. Oh, yes, he was undoubtedly the most glorious-looking man.

He was tall—even Sofia, who was tall herself, only came up as far as his chin!—with a wonderful, easy, regal bearing. Thirty-seven years old, he looked every inch of what he was: Damiano Raffaele Louis Nicoolo di Montecrespi, twelfth hereditary Duke of San Rinaldo and ruler of one of the richest little states in southern Europe. Though the Duke of San Rinaldo was not what Sofia saw when she looked at him. What she saw was the man she’d wasted most of her life loving, for she’d loved him for the greater part of her twenty-three years. And it had been a waste, for his heart belonged to another woman.

He was sitting back in his chair, hair black as tar against the blue damask, his tanned, strong-fingered hands laid lightly along the chair arms. And though he was dressed fairly casually, in dark trousers and a navy shirt, Sofia could sense that his mood was far from casual. Quite clearly, he had something important on his mind.

But he was not divulging what that was yet. He said, referring to Alessandro, ‘He’s a bright child. And walking so well now. I think we’re all going to have our hands full in a couple of months’ time.’

‘I reckon we are.’

He really adored Alessandro. Whenever he spoke of him a light ignited in his eyes and the sometimes harsh lines around his mouth instantly softened. In those moments one caught a glimpse of the passionate human heart that lurked behind the often flinty façade. It was a side of him, Sofia knew, that not everyone was aware of, though she had always been aware of its existence. It was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him. And it pleased her that Alessandro, the precious child they had made together, could ignite that light in his father’s eyes just with the mention of his name.

She added, knowing he would be interested, for he was interested in everything about Alessandro, ‘Alice tells me that he absolutely refuses to crawl at all these days. He insists on walking, even if he has to use his walker.’

Damiano smiled a proud smile. ‘There’s going to be no stopping him.’ And again that unmistakable flash of love touched his eyes. Then he sat back in his seat. ‘I’ve asked for some tea to be brought up. I thought you might like some tea and biscuits?’

Sofia nodded. ‘That would be nice.’ But that knot of anxiety deep inside her tightened. It wasn’t like him to go to all this trouble. Normally, on the rare occasions when he wished to speak to her, he simply called her to his office and said what he had to say. Today he was acting quite out of character, first choosing as their meeting place the informal setting of the Rose Room and now offering her tea and biscuits! What was he about to spring on her? Sofia found herself wondering.

She watched him closely as he observed, ‘Your secretary tells me you’re planning to attend a private dinner on Thursday evening?’

It was said casually enough, but Sofia’s practised eyes had instantly spotted the little giveaway signs that told her he was coming to the point of this encounter. The slight tightening around his jawline, the shuttered look in the dark eyes, the unmistakably authoritarian way he was sitting back in his chair. She felt another tightening inside her. So he was about to put an end to the suspense! And she forced herself to sound as casual as he had as she answered.

‘That’s right. I’ve been invited to dinner at the Pasquales’.’ Then she added with just a twist of annoyance, ’You could have found out what I was doing by asking me directly, you know. There was really no need to make enquiries through my secretary.’

For it maddened her the way, when he wanted to check up on her, he would invariably do it through some palace intermediary, as though he didn’t quite trust her to give a reliable account of herself. But then he probably didn’t. He thought she was a silly, feckless child.

Damiano smiled. He knew what she was thinking. ‘I’ll try to remember that in future,’ he said.

Of course, he would do no such thing. And this time his smile saddened her. It didn’t matter to Damiano that they were reduced to this—his secretary phoning her secretary to find out what she was doing, for more than likely there had been two intermediaries, not just one. The total miserable failure of their three-year-old marriage was of no consequence whatsoever to Damiano, just as the marriage itself had never meant anything to him. All it was, all it had ever been, was a vehicle for providing him with an heir.

At that thought, a coldness touched her. Her trouble was that she’d been too efficient. Less than two years after their marriage Alessandro had been born and from that moment Damiano had had no further use for her. She had served her purpose. That was the brutal, cruel truth of it.

As she pushed that thought away, squashing the hurt that bubbled up, Damiano was saying, ‘I was sorry to hear that. About your dinner engagement with the Pasquales, I mean.’ He paused. ‘You see, I would like you to accompany me to the opera that evening.’

‘The opera?’ Sofia blinked at him.

‘The first night of the new production. As you know, it’s going to be a very special occasion.’

Of course Sofia knew. How could she not know? Thursday was to see the reopening of the newly redecorated Royal Theatre, with an all-star production of Madame Butterfly to mark the occasion. But why on earth was he suggesting that she accompany him?

She said, fixing him with openly perplexed grey-blue eyes, ‘I find this very strange. You always go alone to these things.’

‘I have been doing so, yes.’

‘I mean that was the arrangement.’

‘It was.’ Damiano paused and deliberately held her gaze. ‘But let’s just say I’ve decided to review our arrangement.’

‘Review it? Why?’ Sofia felt a jolt of fear. ‘Why would you want to do that? I would say it was working rather well.’

‘By keeping us out of each other’s hair, you mean?’ Damiano raised one cynical eyebrow. ‘Yes, on that level I would say it was working well too. But there are other things to be considered now. Which is why I think we must review it.’ He paused, the dark eyes narrowing as he looked at her. ‘Why I’m afraid,’ he amended, ‘I must insist that we do.’

It was at that moment that there was a discreet tap on the Rose Room door. A moment later the door opened and a maidservant appeared pushing a trolley laden with tea things—a beautiful blue and gold Castello tea service, Castello being the world-famous locally made porcelain, and an array of silver dishes piled with biscuits and tiny pastries.

She executed a quick curtsy. ‘Your Graces,’ she greeted them, with a quick, discreet bob of her head. Then soundlessly she began to lay out the cups and plates and things on the low mahogany table that stood between the Duke and Duchess.

Sofia had barely glanced at her. Her gaze was fixed on Damiano as she struggled to suppress the sense of dread that rose within her. She had been right to think he had something important on his mind, though she had never dreamed for one moment that it might be anything like this. And this, quite frankly, was the worst nightmare she could imagine.

The arrangement they’d been referring to was the arrangement they’d made five months ago when the situation between them had become frankly intolerable. For it had come to the point when virtually all they did was fight—only in private, of course, though, increasingly, even in public they’d been more and more hard-pressed to conceal the growing rift between them.

It was Damiano who’d instigated the arrangement. ‘From now on,’ he’d decreed, ‘we’ll lead separate lives. No more public appearances together, except on State occasions, when unfortunately it can’t be avoided. And in private we’ll just try to keep out of each other’s way.’

And that was what had happened. He’d moved out of their shared rooms and into separate quarters in the west wing of the palace. And though it had broken Sofia’s heart she had gone along with the arrangement, for there was no way that things could have continued as they were and she’d known that the solution her heart really longed for, namely that Damiano might after all grow to care for her a little, was nothing but a fantasy that would never become reality. So, in the absence of any hope of love, reluctantly she’d settled for less conflict.

To her surprise, once she’d recovered from the initial blow of the separation, she’d discovered that their arrangement actually made her life much easier. For she’d gradually come to realise that it was a great deal less painful to live without her husband’s love when she didn’t see him every day. Little by little, the wounds inside her had begun to heal, and she had gained new strength from the discovery that she could in fact survive without him, after all.

And now he wanted to change all that. To review their arrangement. Fear flickered inside her. She couldn’t let him do it.

As the maid finished pouring the tea and soundlessly withdrew, Sofia sat forward in her seat and looked anxiously at Damiano. ‘I don’t understand,’