Sophie's Halloo (17 page)

But before she could experience the relief of solitude, another worry was added to her agony. After telling his host good-night and accompanying the ladies indoors, Sir John requested their presence immediately in the parlour. Sophie would have pled a headache at this point had he not given an indication that what he had to say would be of particular importance to herself.

They entered the parlour, and Sir John took a moment to ring for a glass of port. Lady Corby and Sophie declined to join him with a glass of sherry, but they waited patiently for his to arrive before they asked for his news.

“Ah, yes,” said Sir John, settling himself comfortably now that the servant had left the room. “I do have something to tell you that should interest you. Mr. Rollo, who has so kindly entertained us this evening, has just issued me a most interesting invitation.” He glanced significantly over his goblet at Sophie. Her heart, which had seemed to throb with a dull ache, gave a lurch as she awaited his dreadful news. “He has,” continued Sir John impressively, “asked me to accompany him to his estate on a fishing expedition. I do not need to tell you, Sophie, the significance I attach to his request.” He took a sip of port and smiled at his ladies with satisfaction.

Lady Corby glanced rapidly at Sophie but could find no enthusiasm in her fixed regard. She did not doubt Sir John’s interpretation of the event, for Mr. Rollo’s attentions had always been particular and of late more so than ever. The evening to which he had just treated them had been attended by an air of celebration, the reason for which she did not have to search far. And now it seemed, Mr. Rollo wished to have some time alone with Sophie’s father, when the subject of matrimony was certain to be discussed.

But Lady Corby had not failed to notice that Sophie had withdrawn of late. She had lost the gaiety and liveliness she had so lately acquired in Sir Tony’s company and had seemed less in touch with her surroundings than ever before, even at home in Leicestershire. For this reason, her mother was reluctant to commit herself on the outcome of Mr. Rollo’s suit. And although she foresaw dreadful possibilities if Sophie should refuse the young man, she intended to support her daughter whatever her wishes. So she responded in a more cautious tone than Sir John would have liked to hear.

“Indeed,” she said noncommittally. “That would seem to be most interesting. Mr. Rollo is certainly decided in his regard for you, Sir John,” she added quite truthfully. Lady Corby encouraged her husband to expound upon the virtues of the young gentleman and kept her own responses cheerful until the warmth of his port could take his mind off the two young people. Then she quickly ushered Sophie off to bed before he could notice that she had not responded to his announcement.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I don’t like Sophie’s looks,” said Aunt Sadie a few days later as she sipped tea with Lady Corby in the parlour. “She looks all done up.”

Lady Corby’s eyes met those of her sister-in-law over the brim of her cup, which she then replaced carefully back on its saucer. “I know,” she agreed, happy to have someone with whom to discuss Sophie’s poor spirits. “I am afraid something has happened to distress her considerably, but she has not confided in me.”

“It’s not this Rollo fellow, is it?” enquired Sadie bluntly.

“Perhaps,” said Lady Corby. “He is becoming very particular, you know. Still,” she added, “I cannot help but think there might be another reason.”

Sadie nodded her head wisely, but she was frowning with displeasure. “It’s Tony, isn’t it? He’s hedged off.”

Lady Corby shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her sister-in-law’s words were not the ones she would have chosen to use, but she did not intend to avoid addressing the issue. “I do not know. It seemed, at least for a while, that he was pursuing his interest with Sophie. I was almost certain...” She did not finish the thought.  “Anyway, we have not seen him for some time now.”

Sadie was still frowning deeply. “It doesn’t figure, Clarissa. I would not have thought the boy could be so fickle. Sure, he is a bit hard to pin down at times, but I would have been willing to swear he was one you could count on. I don’t like to be wrong about people,” she said, ending on a threatening note.

“Let’s not be hasty, Sadie,” cautioned Lady Corby, not without some alarm. Then she chided herself for having entertained the thought, however briefly, that her sister-in-law meant to challenge Sir Tony to a duel. “We really do not know the facts in the case.”

“Well,” said her stout companion, “I do not like to see the gel getting thin and pale. Perhaps a drive would do her good. I remember her saying that she would like to learn to handle the reins, and there’s nothing like a challenge to improve the spirits.”

A few weeks ago, Lady Corby might not have agreed to the scheme so readily, but her concern for Sophie was now so strong that she was happy to accept any suggestion. So off she went in search of her daughter to persuade her at least to take the air in her aunt’s phaeton.

While she was absent from the room, Sir John came in from his club to take leave from the family before going on to Mr. Rollo’s estate. He was hopeful of returning to London in a week’s time with the terms of a marriage proposal all arranged.

Presently, Lady Corby and Sophie joined them, and Sir John, heartily approving the proposed outing, bade his daughter goodbye with the cheerful words, “I shall hope to have something to surprise you with, Sophie, when I get back to Town. And then,” he added happily, “we may all be off for home and through with this nonsense.”

“Papa,” began Sophie with a touch of defeat in her voice. She had tried to make her feelings clear to him on a number of occasions since the night of the theatre party, but her strength had now been sapped by her own level of hopelessness. “I hope you do not mean to speak to Mr. Rollo of marriage, for I am certain that we would not suit.”

In desperation, she had expressed herself more forcefully than ever before, and Sir John could not ignore her this time.

His collar threatened to strangle him as indignation took hold. “Nonsense, Sophie! Let us have no more on the matter! I have managed through diligence and hard planning to land a promising young man for you, one, moreover, whom I shall be delighted to call son-in-law, and you have the dashed ingratitude—I will try not to put it more forcefully—to threaten to decline his offer. Rollo can offer you a home, his estates and courage in the field that you can be proud of. Now, what more does a woman need? Your mother can tell you that that has been good enough for her all these years, and you will certainly not pretend to have better claims to happiness than she has. And,” he added to his sister as she opened her mouth to speak, “I do not want to discuss it with you.”

Her father’s words about his own wife’s happiness, Sophie reflected, were not as cheering as he had intended. But she declined to comment further. His mind was fixed and, short of a miracle, would not be changed. Her own mind was made up as well, and she had already decided on a plan of action if Mr. Rollo did, indeed, come up to scratch. She would refuse his offer, of course, no matter how much her father ranted and raved about it, and she doubted Sir John could force her to accept without sacrificing his own good name in the bargain.

If he then cast her off (and she almost hoped that he would), she would apply to her Aunt Sadie for assistance, and she trusted that large-hearted lady would take her in. She had no doubt that they would deal well together, even if it meant for her retiring at an early age to the countryside in Kent.

Not wishing to debate the question further. Sir John kissed his sister and his wife goodbye and, declining to recognize Sophie with this sign of his affection, cautioned her to mind her manners until his return. Then he went off, muttering about ingratitude until the prospect of a country view offered him a happier subject for his thoughts.

“Well, Sophie,” said Aunt Sadie, feeling, for once, powerless to offer much in the way of comfort, “let us go out for a turn to shake the cobwebs from our minds.” She patted the girl almost gently on the back and received a grateful smile in return. Taking this for an answer, she led the way outside to where her carriage was waiting and spoke to the boy who was walking the horses.

“Get yourself up behind, Jemmy. Miss Corby will be joining me on the box.” Her tiger held the horses’ heads until the ladies were settled up in front and then ran quickly to jump on the back as the spirited team took a plunge. Sophie eyed them with a certain lack of confidence, but Aunt Sadie nodded her approval.  “The leaders are still a bit frisky today,” she said. “I’d rather that than a shirker. Now, watch me closely, Sophie, and listen to what I say.” She headed them carefully out from the curb, but once they were out in traffic, allowed them to go at their own pace.

“You must place your feet firmly down on the foot-boards,” she began, “to support you on the box. It would help,” she added critically, “if you had more bottom, but perhaps it will come with age. Mine did.”  The reflection did not seem to dismay her.

As Sophie watched, Aunt Sadie gave her all the basic instructions she must have to begin to handle a team, and she listened with growing interest as the carriage raced at breakneck speed through the crowded city streets. A moment more, and they were at the gates to Hyde Park. Her aunt pulled the horses down to a trot as she prepared to hand her the reins.

When they came to a stop, Sophie took the reins with a determination not to disgrace herself, although her heart beat unsteadily as she recalled their recent speed. Sadie helped to lace the ribbons through Sophie’s fingers and promised to grab them if the horses threatened to run away.

With the intention of holding the horses to a walk if at all possible, Sophie gritted her teeth and “her-rupped” the horses. Surprisingly, they obeyed her, which she credited to their more settled condition after the rapid trot from Berkeley Square.

“That’s a gel,” said Sadie approvingly. “I knew you could do it. Tap your leaders now and step it up to a trot. They won’t try to run with you. That’s it.” 

She kept up her encouraging remarks as Sophie circled the park a few times at a respectable pace. The clear air and the exercise were, indeed, having their effect, and Sophie was not so cast down that a challenge successfully met could not raise her spirits. As they reached the entrance to the park once again, she could be glad that she had agreed to the outing, for her improvement in spirits was helping to reconcile her to her impending fate. She could not help remembering, though, the first time she had driven in the park, and she was grateful to know that if she should spot Sir Tony driving there with his own team, she need not be ashamed of her own performance.

At this point, however, Sophie was ready to hand the ribbons back to her aunt, for a great deal of strength was required to hold the horses continuously in check, and she had not got the habit of it. Taking them then with more compliments on her niece’s first efforts, Aunt Sadie led them back into the streets and in the direction of the city.

“I will take you to Crowther’s, Sophie,” she said, promising her a treat. “I am in need of a new coaching whip, and his is the only place where I would consider buying one. They’re expensive, mind you. A guinea apiece.  But they’re the best there is.”

She stepped up the pace as she headed out along Piccadilly past Bond Street, and Sophie, who was now forced to hold on to the box with both hands to maintain her seat, began to wish sincerely for more bottom. She wondered humourously at her mother’s willingness to send her out for a ride with Aunt Sadie without providing a hartshorn in her reticule.

They arrived at Mr. Crowther’s establishment and left the horses in Jemmy’s able hands. Instantly upon entering, Sophie’s nostrils were greeted with the rich smell of cured leather, and she found herself surrounded by thongs and whips of every description.  There was a crowd of gentlemen near the back of the store, however, and Sadie suggested that Sophie leave to her the task of making her way through them to obtain Mr. Crowther’s attention. Considering her aunt, whip in hand, to be ably armed for the task, Sophie began to walk about the crowded store, idly looking over the proprietor’s craftsmanship.

The smell of the leather and the hum of conversation provided by the lounging amateur coachmen were all too familiar to Sophie, and before long she was wandering vaguely, little aware of her surroundings. Her thoughts were of Tony and the discovery she had just made that tanned leather was one of the faint elements of his own personal scent. But the shop was so strongly marked with the odour of leather that it had blotted out her sensual memory of Tony’s nearness, and she strived to recapture it momentarily by closing her eyes. As she did so, however, she came to the end of a row of wares just as a gentleman rounded the corner, and she walked without check directly into his arms.

For one maddening, although embarrassed moment, Sophie thought that she had just managed to recapture the elusive memory of Tony’s scent before accidentally running into the gentleman. Now with regret she would have to abandon her daydreams to deal with the present situation. But after taking a rapid step backward and looking up in order to apologize, she found that what she had done was to locate Tony himself.

She stared up at him in amazement and wondered dazedly if she had somehow acquired the scenting abilities of the famous Quorn hounds.  From the expression on his face, she gathered that he was as surprised and disturbed by the encounter as she was herself. Despite the hurt he had dealt her, her heart quickened with the joy of seeing him again. They stood, gazing fixedly at one another, until presently something seemed to recall Tony to himself and he doffed his hat in polite greeting. The gesture, so elegantly made and so endearingly familiar, drew a faint, reminiscent smile from Sophie.

“Miss Corby,” he said. “Your servant.” His face was clouded with a distant look that seemed totally unlike the man she knew. He had called her Sophie the last time she had seen him, she recalled.

“How do you do, Sir Tony?” she asked, determined not to sound injured. “What a surprise to see you.”