Theo felt his hackles rise, but he replied evenly, “Miss Devereux feared she would be forced into a distasteful marriage. Seen from that perspective, her actions were understandable. And bringing her here has not inconvenienced me.”
The corner of Verney’s mouth lifted, as if to acknowledge his visitor was merely being polite. “Still, you must be glad to be rid of her. Sophie can be exhausting at times, and from her garbled tale I hear curious events have dogged your journey.” He shook his head. “Why she thought it sensible to bring the jewel along too, I can’t imagine. Should have left the thing with the lawyer! I’ll tell her to ensure it is kept in a safe place, but word about this sort of thing always gets out. Devilish awkward!”
Theo resisted the urge to grind his teeth; Lord Verney might look like a Greek god, but his supercilious manner and determination to think the worst of Sophie were less than heroic. “It is my belief Miss Devereux may still be at risk,” he said.
Disbelief darted over Lord Verney’s face. “Surely that is nonsense? The attempt to steal the jewel, if indeed that is what it was, was most likely made by an opportunist thief.”
“I believe it was planned.”
“But who could be responsible? From what I hear, her cousin has neither the necessary intelligence nor courage. And while this Lucius Grey fellow sounds mysterious, it is questionable whether he even knew of the Star’s existence. Mr Cavanagh, you are obviously a man of sense. Do not let Sophie’s love of melodrama influence you.”
This time, Theo only maintained his temper with an effort. He yearned to smash his fist into Verney’s elegant, arrogant features. “I think I am well placed to offer an opinion since I accompanied Miss Devereux,” he observed curtly.
“Did you see the intruder yourself?”
“No, but—”
“Ah. And the highwaymen were nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence,” continued Lord Verney inexorably.
Theo’s lips compressed into a thin line; Verney had clearly made up his mind. He tried one last time. “I see. And how do you explain the fact Miss Devereux’s room at The Bell and Anchor had been disturbed?”
“Sophie informs me it was her cousin Olivia who noticed this and no doubt by then she too had been swept up in Sophie’s flights of fancy.” Lord Verney gave a slight smile. “You forget I was well acquainted with them in my youth. Sophie was never the highly strung type, but she did have a vivid imagination and thirst for adventure gleaned, no doubt, from reading too many gothic novels. These have manifested themselves in her imagining cutthroats and thieves lurking in every shadow. She should have outgrown such foolishness by now.” Glimpsing Theo’s deepening frown, he added hastily, “Oh, I don’t doubt her fears are sincere, but that does not make them any less fantastic to those of us who retain a sensible perspective.”
“So you do not believe what she has told you?”
“Let us say I prefer to maintain a healthy scepticism. My mother and I will ensure she is accompanied by a maid—Sophie will have no idea how to go on in London society anyway—but I do not think any stronger measures are called for, do you?”
“Actually I do, for a time at least, but it seems you are determined to push my concerns aside in the same careless manner you have dealt with Sophie’s.”
Lord Verney stiffened. “I don’t wish to argue, Cavanagh,” he said, with a haughty glare. “We are grateful for your assistance, but Sophie is our responsibility now. Of course, you are welcome to call whenever you are—”
Verney was interrupted by the entrance of Sophie and an older lady. Sophie’s eyes were suspiciously moist, but she smiled at Theo. “Have you and James been getting acquainted?” she asked gaily. “Famous! I hoped you would get along. This is Lady Verney, James‘s mama.”
Georgiana, Lady Verney was a pretty woman with a feeble, vague mien. A Mechlin lace cap adorned her hair and she wore a morning gown of sprigged poplin trimmed with folds of blue satin. Three fine shawls were draped haphazardly about her shoulders. Reputed to be neither learned nor intelligent, she had an amiable disposition and, Theo noted, a ready smile entirely at odds with her son’s formality.
She floated toward him and put out her hand. “Sophie has told me about you. Indeed, I find myself in awe of your perfections.”
“Miss Devereux is too generous. I am no paragon.”
“I am glad to hear it…they are always dead bores,” she observed, still smiling. “James, have you ordered refreshments for our guest?”
“Not yet, Mama.”
“Then please do so at once. Mr. Cavanagh must be in dire need and I want to thank him properly for bringing Sophie to us.”
Lord Verney, looking none too pleased at the prospect of their visitor staying longer, did as he was bid before sitting down on the sofa with the air of a man resigned to a tedious interlude.
It was not long before Theo was being urged by his hostess to divulge every detail of their journey. Sophie stayed mostly silent, flicking occasional glances in Lord Verney’s direction and Theo contrived to watch her while maintaining a flow of polite conversation. It proved to be a bitter-sweet occupation. As he drank in the expressions and mannerisms he had come to find enchanting, he suffered searing jealousy every time her gaze drifted to Verney’s handsome features.
Lady Verney was shocked by Theo’s revelations and seemed inclined to believe Sophie had been threatened, but her son’s raised brows and sceptical looks indicated his disdain and she took his lead.
Theo, doing his utmost to hide his irritation as well as his jealousy, could only impress the need for vigilance, saying he would not call again for sometime as he was leaving town.
“London is thin of company, yet some small parties and balls are still being given. Sophie will be kept busy with all manner of entertainments, but I am sure she will be delighted to see you on your return,” observed Lady Verney.
Across the room Sophie, studying Theo from under her lashes, murmured her agreement to this, but without conviction. She was sure he had no intention of coming back. Why would he want to see her again? On the contrary, he would be glad to be rid of the annoying chit who had disrupted his life.
She was already feeling unsure about her decision to come here. Lady Verney had been welcoming but, notwithstanding his understandable surprise, James’s reaction to her arrival had been less than encouraging. Sophie had refused to look beyond their meeting and the impulsiveness she had shown in leaving Ludstone was suddenly being borne in upon her now. She could not regret it entirely—every minute she spent away from her erstwhile home and her relations made her more determined never to go back—but there was already a creeping realisation she might have exchanged one difficult situation for another. The only bright aspect to emerge from the whole wretched business was meeting Theo.
Compelled to help her out of a sense of honour and solicitude for her safety, then plunged into a scandal and events not of his making, Theo had behaved with impeccable propriety, patience and fortitude. She had liked him from the outset and so easy was his manner that she felt it was he rather than James she had known most of her life. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged she had placed him in the worst situation imaginable. Little wonder he would be glad to forget her.
When he took his leave and she watched him walk out of the room, and most likely out of her life, she felt more miserable than ever.
Chapter 10
Two weeks later, Sophie’s situation had not improved.
Lady Verney was a woman of good nature but little common-sense. She was also in thrall to her son, always deferring to his opinion. Everything he said and everything he did was to be agreed with. Sophie, unable to concur, had said nothing. She did not want to upset her hostess who had been extremely kind.
Lady Verney had declared herself delighted to have Sophie’s company. Learning of her cloistered existence since her come-out, Lady Verney had described the treats awaiting her and promised to accompany Sophie to as many of these as her health and energy would all
ow.
She had taken Sophie to her own modiste and instructed that lady to dress Sophie in a manner befitting her position as their guest, and direct the bills to Brook Street. When Sophie demurred, Lady Verney had said she would not be denied the pleasure of rigging Sophie out in the most exclusive fashions when she had no daughter of her own to indulge.
Lady Verney’s understanding might not be great, but she knew the rules of society. She lost no time in launching Sophie into its midst, ensuring she was included on the steady stream of invitation cards that arrived in Brook Street, as well as taking her on morning calls and shopping expeditions. Upon being asked if she was enjoying herself, Sophie was able to reply that she was. It wasn’t a complete lie—London was diverting to someone who had seen so little of the world, and she evinced such a candid, unsophisticated appreciation of her surroundings as to make her welcomed for her own sake as well as Lady Verney’s.
Sophie wore the Star at all times, much to Lady Verney’s initial displeasure who, unaware of its true worth, had observed the pin to be a ”sweet but vulgar piece, quite unsuitable for wearing in London.”
Unwilling to divulge to James or Lady Verney that it contained the Star, Sophie said it had belonged to her mother and she wore it for sentimental reasons, which was true enough in an obscure way. This explanation was accepted since Sophie’s attachment to the piece was obvious and her Ladyship, being kindhearted, had resolved not to tease her about it further.
Sophie was relieved that no melodramatic events had occurred since her arrival. No midnight intruders had invaded her room, no men swathed in greatcoats and mufflers had watched her from across the street. Nor, as far as she was aware, had she been followed. In fact, the social whirlwind she had been swept into left little opportunity to watch for anything unusual because each day was crammed with engagements. She felt overwhelmed at times, but did her best not to feel ungrateful, knowing Lady Verney’s efforts sprang not only from good intentions but from a pressing need to see Sophie’s future settled.
Sophie had anticipated James‘s shock at her arrival. She had not expected to find him so altered. His attitude toward her had continued to be cool, almost hostile and, now she had had the opportunity to observe him at close quarters, she saw he had acquired a priggish air in the intervening years which she found distasteful. The engaging youth had been replaced by a man she barely recognised and she was conscious of a cloying sense of disappointment.
Several days after her arrival in Brook Street, he had sat across the breakfast table recounting a litany of her imperfections. They were alone as Lady Verney had not yet emerged from her bedchamber.
James had clearly bided his time before voicing his opinions, although Sophie was unsure why he had because it had increased his irritation. His observations on the lack of propriety surrounding her flight were followed by a long invective, delivered in a calm but condemnatory tone, on his displeasure at her behaviour generally, his astonishment she should have involved Mr Cavanagh and his belief that her father would be turning in his grave at her actions.
Sophie, who had listened in silence and with as much patience as she could muster, found herself growing more and more angry until she blurted out, “No, he would not! He would think I did the right thing and if you had not become so insufferably pompous, James, you would think so too! What do you know about my life in recent years? Did you ever give a thought to how I was going on? I don’t believe you did! You certainly never wrote to me. You cannot imagine I would have come here in such a fashion unless I considered it necessary.” A self-conscious blush rose to her cheeks. “Indeed, I had hoped you would be glad to see me. The promise we made to one another before you left for Eton—”
“That piece of foolish, immature nonsense!” He gave a snort of disapproval. “I hope you did not set out with an expectation of it being fulfilled because we have both grown up—” When he caught a glimpse of her face, he stopped. “Good grief, so you did consider we might marry!” he said, after a pause.
Mortified, Sophie could not articulate that she had, but there was no need to—her stricken look told him. He had not laughed out loud, but his expression was one of incredulity tinged with pity. She dipped her head, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. Scarlet with embarrassment, she managed to stammer, “W-Well, it may have been a piece of nonsense to you, but it was an oath I would have honoured. Or at least I thought I would. You have changed, James—”
“So have you.”
“I suppose so,” she acknowledged, lifting her chin, “but at least I have not become a dandified fribble—”
“A fribble!”
“—who thinks it fashionable to look bored and treats an old friend as if she were a reckless half-wit!”
“I have not treated you in that way,” he said, affronted.
“Indeed you have. I know I have been impulsive and should perhaps have tried harder to send word ahead, but it is unkind to chastise me so severely when you know nothing of my circumstances. Your welcome was tepid at best, your manner toward me since then has been churlish. If it were not for your mama’s kindness, I would have left this house within an hour of setting foot in it! I see now I have made a stupid mistake and must ask you to consider our pledge at an end.”
He executed a swift bow, saying bluntly, “I believe that is the right decision. We would not suit, you know. Besides, I am already betrothed.”
Sophie dropped her butter knife onto the plate with a clatter. “Betrothed!” She gaped at him. “To whom? There have been no announcements in the Morning Post.”
“Not yet, because the lady concerned is still in mourning for her aunt. That is why we have remained in London rather than going to coast—the time has almost come when she can put off her black gloves and then she will travel to London and the announcement will appear. She is Lady Penelope Crighton, the Earl of Mountford’s daughter. The family hails from Yorkshire so you will not know her.”
“Do you love her?” she asked eventually, breaking the awkward silence that had followed.
“That is an impertinent question.”
“Perhaps, but we were good friends once, James, and in such circumstances, a truthful answer is not too much to ask. Still, if that is all the reply you are prepared to give me, I don’t think you can love her. It must be a marriage of convenience.”
For once, his mouth curved in a genuine smile. “You have not changed in speaking your mind, have you?” he observed. “What an atrocious little baggage you are, Sophie! You’re wrong. I do love Penelope. She encompasses all I admire in a woman— attractive, graceful, refined, from an excellent family and with elegant manners, good connections and a fine regard for the proprieties. In short, everything—”
“That I am not?” she concluded, a reluctant but mischievous dimple appearing.
His amusement swiftly faded. “Must you keep putting words into my mouth? I was going to say everything I could wish for in a wife.”
“It amounts to the same thing.” Seeing his gathering scowl, she added, “Oh, don’t fly into a pucker again, James! If you love your Penelope then I wish you joy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are not broken-hearted then?”
She was not.
The realisation she did not care two pins for James had been growing on Sophie and this conversation confirmed what she already suspected. News of his betrothal had taken her by surprise, but she was not upset by it. It did, however, make sorting out her future a matter of urgency. James had altered and so had she. Their previous attachment had not grown into love. The hero-like James of her memory and in whom she had invested all her affection and hopes had materialised into a man she had no desire to marry.
He was undoubtedly handsome. In that respect, the promise of the youth had been more than fulfilled but his romantic appearance was not matched by character. And, while other facets of the boy she had known still surfaced occasionally, he had also become shallow, pompous and more than a little conceited. She had
been so fixated with reaching London and seeing him again that she had not stopped to examine what was in her heart. Now she had and found the man she was head over heels in love with was not James at all.
It was Theo.
She loved Theo.
It was a relief to admit it at last. The difference in the way she felt was stark. It bore no comparison to her sterile, idealised hero-worship of James. Her love for Theo was real, sensual and shockingly intense. It was the love of a woman for a man—a real man, not an icon of her imagination. Sophie was aware of Theo’s flaws, but she loved him more for those. Her feelings owed nothing to gratitude, or the thrill of escaping from Ludstone, or even the disappointment of finding James had feet of clay. The truth was she had fallen in love with Theo because of all that he was.
And for the first time in her life, she realized real love was not always comfortable. It was exquisite in its extremes. She had appreciated Lady Verney’s kindness, tried to turn a blind eye to James‘s patronising manner and had done her best to enjoy London, but a dull ache of unhappiness had lurked behind her smile. It was never forgotten and in quiet moments it flared into anguish.
She could not banish Theo from her mind and constantly wondered what he was doing. He had told her he travelled to France to sample and select wine so he may even have gone abroad, something she found hard to contemplate. She had liked him from the first and that attraction had deepened during their time together, only coming into perfect focus when he had gone away.
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