Karen Harbaugh (10 page)

Rothwick bowed and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Lydia jumped up and crossed to Linnea, seizing her hands.

“Thank goodness he abducted you!” she cried.

Linnea looked at her, astonished.

“You cannot imagine how I have dreaded his marriage with Sophia Amberley. A more self-centered, selfish creature I have never seen in my life! When I heard that she was Will’s choice, I think I must have cried every night for a sennight!”

“But, but, she is very beautiful, and—”

“Oh, I know that was a consideration for Will! It would be for any man—for what it is worth! Not that I think she is as beautiful as she or anyone else makes her out to be. Her nose, for example—But that is neither here nor there! I must tell you, she delights in mischief! She would have made Will miserable within a fortnight. No, no, anyone would be better for him than Sophia!”

“Thank you—I think,” Linnea said dryly.

Lydia looked flustered. “Oh, my dear, I am sure you are not just anyone! Well, I have just met you, but I am sure you are entirely respectable, especially if you are to marry Will. Besides, I can see he likes you already.”

“Oh, no!” It was Linnea’s turn to be flustered. “He offered for me to save my reputation. I cannot think that he already—”

“If he does not, he should!” replied Lydia. “I think you will do very well for William.” She gave Linnea an assessing look. “You must know your coloring is in fashion now. Do let me dress you! Oh, my, yes. You will be stunning.”

“I?” said Linnea, taken aback. “I think I can say my looks are passable, but I do not know if I should be at all comfortable if I am to appear stunning. And I don’t think it would be proper for me to accept clothes from you or Lord Rothwick.”

“Nonsense! Of course it is proper. Am I not to be your sister-in-law? You will become used to it, I assure you! Now, there is a good seamstress nearby in the village. She will do for now, but later—it must be Madame Cerise in London…”

Linnea let Lady Wrenton talk on, listening with half an ear. She rubbed the fabric of her worn dress between her fingers. Oh, it would be wonderful to have new clothes! She’d let herself be persuaded to this—frankly—rash betrothal; surely it would do no harm to accept a few dresses. She smiled wryly and sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Chapter 6

Sophia pulled at the sash around her bodice pettishly. Her rejection of Lord Rothwick had been as grand as she had envisioned it. She’d broken their engagement in fine form and had done it very prettily, she thought. Her dress of pale lavender had been just the right complement to her sorrowful demeanor, and she had made her hand tremble when he bowed over it in farewell. Her father and mother had commiserated with her and had told her she was well out of such a bad bargain.

Yet she could not help feeling she was not quite the victor in the encounter. That nasty Mary Frome had smiled at her at last night’s ball, and it almost seemed her smile had been malicious. Sophia suddenly remembered then that she may have hinted to a few people of her impending betrothal to Rothwick. She bit her lip in frustration. No doubt Mary Frome had heard something of it. Sophia had comforted herself before retiring for the night, thinking of the stories she knew of Mary and what she would, justifiably, tell her beaux about her.

It was not so easy to deal with Rothwick, she found. It seemed society forgave a man for his indiscretions, the way it never would for a woman. He still appeared—properly humble, to be sure—at Almack’s and at Lady Hassletine’s, and it seemed no one snubbed him at all! Sophia gnawed her lower lip in vexation at the memory. Surely there was some way she could let people know—discreetly, of course—how seriously he’d insulted her. Or better yet, show Rothwick that he had erred, and erred badly.

She would think on it. Right now she needed to have her maid retie her sash and make the best possible entrance at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s musicale. Sophia was sure to pick up a little information here and there. She would be going to the musicale with Alice Sharp and her mother, both of whom filled her with ennui, but it was better than being under her own mother’s anxious eye. Mrs. Sharp had more interest in the card games in the provided card-room than in music, and Sophia could easily shake off Alice. She would be left to do precisely as she pleased. Sophia smiled at the thought.

Upon their arrival at Mrs. Rockwell-Jones’s, Sophia noted the number of men in the room and felt the need to rid herself of her companions as soon as she could. Mrs. Sharp was already going in the direction of the card-room. Quickly Sophia introduced Alice—a shy child with mouse-colored hair—to a handsome Hussar and was rewarded with a grateful smile from the girl.

At least half of the gentlemen made their way toward Sophia at her arrival. It was gratifying until she noticed a gentleman she had never seen before. He glanced at her and then did not bother to look her way again. Yes, that was what was so annoying. He did not bother, of all things!

Sophia smiled at one callow youth at her side, causing him to blush and stammer something unimportant. She glanced at the man at the other side of the room. He was not at all handsome—too much of a long-shanks for that—and his skin was quite brown, contrasting oddly with his sun-streaked hair. She chattered and laughed at another unimportant tidbit that fell from the callow whatever-his-name’s lips. But there was something in the way that man lounged against a pillar, the negligent air with which he wore his finely tailored evening wear, that claimed him for a man of fashion and taste. Yet if he was a man of fashion, surely he knew it was required that he pay attention to her?

The man looked up then and caught her eye. For the first time in her life, Sophia blushed involuntarily and looked away. Annoyed, she made herself look at him again, but his gaze was on the musicians. She allowed a small frown to cross her lips in frustration.

“Have I said something wrong, M-Miss Amberley?” stuttered the youth at her side.

Sophia focused on him. Oh, yes. Jack Gordon. A second son of a viscount, with good connections and ten thousand pounds a year. However, he adored her. She gave him her second-best smile. “Oh, no, no! It is just that—that gentleman over there gave me such a peculiar look. I did not know what to think!”

Jack glanced in the direction her fan had waved. “Oh, him!” he said. His voice was scornful, but Sophia noted it was not without a touch of envy. “Pay no attention to him or his glances. That is Sir James Marlowe. He may be a seasoned traveler, and it’s said that he’s as rich as Croesus, but he is known for a... well, I suppose I should not say. He is a mischief-maker at the very least. I am surprised Mrs. Rockwell-Jones invited him.”

There was a general murmur of assent among the young gentlemen around Sophia, and a discussion of Sir James’s supposed adventures—with respect for Sophia’s shell-like ears, of course—ensued.

“Jealous, Mr. Gordon?” said a deep and musical voice. Sophia turned to find that Sir James had joined their circle.

Jack’s ears turned an unfortunate red. He opened his mouth to retort angrily but was stopped by the look in Sir James’s eyes. Sophia could not help but admire him then. The older man’s expression was devoid of anger or challenge: instead a look of amused anticipation—as if Sir James were waiting for the denouement of a joke—slowly filled his large and sleepy-looking eyes.

Jack’s cheeks matched the fiery color of his ears, but he straightened himself, saying with dignity: “Not at all, Sir James. We were merely relating some stories we had heard about your travels.”

Sir James smiled genially. “My travels. How flattering.” Sophia did not know how he did it, for his tone of voice was nothing but benevolent, but somehow the man managed to convey the impression that the young men had committed a social solecism.

He turned his gaze on Sophia. “And this is...?”

Another young man, strangely impelled by the mild friendliness in Sir James’s voice, made a hasty introduction.

“Most charming.” He bowed over her hand, smiling.

Sophia felt piqued, for his voice seemed to imply that he had seen others more charming than she. It occurred to her suddenly that he had also been quite presumptuous in prompting an introduction to her instead of waiting for one.

He glanced across the room at the musicians, who were lifting their instruments in readiness. “Ah. They are about to begin. I believe the selection is to be a particularly intricate piece by Haydn. I have always thought it better appreciated at an appropriate distance.” His gaze passed innocuously over Sophia’s admirers.

Sophia did not know how it came to be, but she found her hand on Sir James’s sleeve and was led to a chair closer to the musicians. She glanced back at her beaux and had to keep herself from laughing at their hangdog looks. She transferred her gaze to Sir James. How had he done it?

“Practice, my dear, practice,” said Sir James. He looked down at her, an amused expression in his eyes.

Sophia stared at him—how did he know what she had been thinking? Surely her own expression did not reveal—She recovered quickly and said: “Yes, the music is very fine, is it not?”

Sir James gave her an appreciative look and agreed. The music washed over them for a few minutes while Sophia alternated her glances between her escort and the crowd. Her eyes lighted on a richly dressed woman in a round gown of puce, lavishly trimmed with point lace.

“Ah. Lady Ackleby—an interesting lady,” said Sir James.

Sophia looked at him and saw that he had followed her gaze. She raised her brows haughtily to depress his presumption.

A faint smile crossed his lips. “You are curious, of course,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her expression, she was sure. “However, I do not think a young lady such as yourself should hear...” Sir James paused.

Sophia bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She felt irritated that he assumed she was curious about Lady Ackleby—which was true, but he should not have assumed it. On the other hand, she was very curious about Lady Ackleby. She had heard only snippets regarding this lady’s reputation, but no real details.

She laughed lightly, and her glance was amused. “Really, Sir James, you must know this is not my first Season! I have been about a little, you know.”

“You amaze me! I would have thought you just out of the schoolroom.” Sir James’s smile was bland.

Sophia unfurled her fan just in time to cover her gasp of indignation. How dare he! She was well known for her fine sense of address, and here she felt he implied she was as gauche as a schoolgirl.

“You look so very fresh and... innocent, you see,” Sir James explained.

She looked up at him. How was she to take that? If she took the compliment, would he tell her about Lady Ackleby? And that little pause before the word innocent. Was he implying that perhaps she was not? Perhaps she could turn back the conversation. She looked about her and noticed the music had stopped and the guests were going into supper. Sir James rose and held out his hand.

“And very lovely,” he continued.

Sophia’s fan fluttered and dropped enough to reveal an innocent smile. “I am sure you exaggerate, Sir James,” she said demurely. She laid her hand in his, and he placed it on his arm.

“Not at all. Surely you know you are the most beautiful woman in this room.” He led her to a table at the far corner of the room. It was partially obscured by some ferns, Sophia noticed, but she said nothing about their destination.

“Oh, no. Not as attractive as, say, Lady Ackleby?”

Sir James paused, and an admiring glint appeared in his eye. “Many men have found her so—or so I would suppose, of course. Then again, it is said she is not a clever women. Some men find that attractive as well. Sir Daniel Scott, for example, or Lord Weatherby.”

So, thought Sophia, delighted at this information. Sir Daniel and Lord Weatherby have been “involved” with the woman. She gave Sir James her most brilliant smile. “And you, Sir James, do you find clever women... attractive?”

“Mmmm, I find I do not grow bored with them as I do with women less clever. Beauty always adds to the attraction, of course.” Sir James’s eyes met hers, and he smiled.

He had a beautiful smile. Sophia felt a little breathless. How lovely it is to flirt with this man, she thought. So different from the much younger men who usually surrounded her. They were clumsy compared with Sir James.

“Although I understand the combination is not always appreciated by certain men,” continued Sir James.

A little shiver passed over Sophia, and she pulled her shawl over her shoulders. He has heard of my broken betrothal, I am sure of it, she thought. I must make sure he knows that it was I who broke it off because of Rothwick’s betrayal.

“Alas, it is true,” she said sadly. “Who knows what cruelty exists in a man’s heart? It is better that a lady break the connection when she learns of his perfidy than to live with certain betrayal of the marriage vows.” Sophia had the talent to make her eyes fill with tears without letting them fall, and she used it now.

It seemed almost as if Sir James’s eyes took on a look of amusement, but he said: “He must have been mad.”

Instead of being affronted by his directness, Sophia found herself looking up at him. His gaze was intent... compelling... and she found her heart beating a little faster. “I do not know. Perhaps I am not as beautiful as I have been told,” she blurted.

She shocked herself. She had not meant to say that, and what shocked her the most (though she could scarce admit it to herself) was that it was the first spontaneous remark she had made in many a year.

“No one lied when they said you were beautiful,” replied Sir James.

Sophia looked at him, and his eyes were not mocking, but admiring. She felt much better, for his remark restored her equilibrium.

“Some men merely lack... intelligence,” continued Sir James. “So easily... trapped.” He smiled at her.

She sat up straight. She hadn’t thought of that! That woman had trapped Rothwick. Of course! And he was known to be an honorable man. He would have no choice but to marry the harlot, in spite of her own, Sophia’s, beauty!