She missed him terribly. She missed their conversations as well as the irrepressible twinkle in his gaze, the teasing note in his voice and his smile, which from the outset she had privately thought irresistible. She adored his appreciation of the absurd and how his anger dissipated as quickly as it flared into life, his long, easy stride, the endearing way he pushed his fingers through his hair, she loved his thoughtfulness and generosity, the resolve beneath his jaunty exterior, and that he always put her safety and well-being before his own. Most of all, she loved how he made her heart turn over in her chest with a glance.
But he did not love her and the recollection she might never see him again plunged her once more into a feeling of hopelessness.
Realising James was waiting for her answer, she dredged up the ghost of a smile. “No,” she confessed, “but your betrothal means I must make plans at once for setting up my own establishment. Nothing too grand, of course. I was thinking of a property in a less expensive part of town or even in the suburbs, such as Kensington.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he declared, with a horrified expression. “Why, it defies the dictates of convention! Mama and I will decide what is best to be done with you. What about Cavanagh?”
Sophie’s startled gaze flew to his. “Why do you mention him?”
“Come, come, you are not a complete innocent! Did he offer marriage? Strictly speaking, you were compromised by being alone with him. The least he could have done is offered to wed you.”
An angry flush stained her cheeks. His words had tainted the hours she had spent with Theo with the stigma of impropriety. “That is a detestable thing to say! He accompanied me out of honour and solicitude for my safety. I would never, ever, want him to feel obliged to offer for me. It would be the worst thing imaginable and I beg you will not speak of it again. Most likely he will forget all about me, or at least be glad he is rid of a tiresome travelling companion!” Sophie, emotion choking her throat as she voiced this reflection, added, “I-I must do what I originally intended. It is not long before I come into my inheritance and then I will engage Papa’s lawyer to find me a property.”
James clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t be a little fool! You are an attractive, eligible young woman, not an elderly spinster. I know better than you what is acceptable in London society, and setting up your own establishment without a suitable chaperone would cause a scandal.”
Eyes flashing at his high-handed manner, she couldn’t stop herself from retorting, ‘Then pray oblige me by finding someone suitable. I haven’t escaped from one prison to find myself in another!”
“Stop ripping up at me like a shrew! I was wrong a moment ago—you haven’t changed at all,” he observed in a less than complimentary tone. “You will have to mend your ways if you are going to marry a man of fashion.”
“I don’t wish to marry anyone!” she replied hotly. “My goodness, I would never have believed you could have turned into such a cold fish, James. You don’t seem to think I am capable of making any decisions but I am, and you have no right to tell me what I must or must not do. It is not in the least your affair anymore.”
“For as long as you remain here, it is very much my affair. You must do as I say unless you want to set the whole of London talking. Matters are extremely difficult as it is. I wish you had not come!”
“So do I!” she flung back.
He glared at her and was ready to stalk out of the room at this but Sophie, who was coming to understand that James did not like having his authority or sense of dignity questioned, realized she had more to gain by coaxing him into a better state of mind so she murmured a hasty apology, and spent several minutes soothing his ruffled temper.
She had no intention of going blindly to a fate chosen for her but to prevent another quarrel springing up, she put on her meekest expression and promised to do her best to adopt what James called ‘London manners’.
Afterward, Sophie’s transformation from tomboy to lady continued. She was primped and polished into a lady fit to be seen in Europe’s most exclusive drawing rooms. New gowns and bonnets were delivered in quantities of tissue. Her hair was fashionably arranged by her maid and Lady Verney took her shopping for those accessories essential for cutting a dash. She was lectured by James and Lady Verney on her behaviour and ordered to restrain her more outrageous observations. Sophie tried hard not to be ungrateful but, realising all this was being done to secure her a husband, she found no pleasure in this whirl of activity.
Her situation was extremely awkward and she was being well served for her impulsiveness. James and his mother wanted her out of the way before his wedding. Going back to Ludstone was out of the question and, as James would not entertain the notion of her living with a paid companion, he saw marrying her off as the only viable option.
Uncomfortable in her new finery and doing her best to hold her tongue, she felt like a prize filly being trotted out for inspection.
Foolishly, she longed to see Theo again. It was absurd to yearn for a man who considered her—if he thought of her at all—in an unfavourable light, but she could not help feeling a quiver of anticipation whenever a visitor was announced. She had been disappointed thus far which confirmed her suspicion he would not return.
Peregrine, on the other hand, had called in Brook Street several times. The look he had directed at Sophie when he realized Lady Verney had a son, and an apparently eligible one, had been unpleasant, but he made every effort to ingratiate himself with his hosts and convey his admiration of his cousin. He succeeded so well that James told Sophie her description of Peregrine had been misleading. He found him an agreeable fellow, not the most dashing of men and perhaps too inclined towards the popinjay, but a stay in London would smooth his rough edges. Frowning with disapproval when she innocently inquired on one occasion after Perry’s departure if he thought her cousin looked at all like a lobster, James observed in a curt voice she should be pleased a man like Peregrine admired her and accept his numerous invitations to join him for a drive.
Lady Verney followed her son’s lead, adding that the company of her cousin must be considered unexceptionable.
Sophie was horrified.
Despite her protestations, they appeared to view Peregrine as a potential suitor and she suspected they were secretly encouraging him, issuing invitations behind her back to call in Brook Street. Lady Verney, always ready to take the romantic stance, viewed him as a noble figure whose devotion to Sophie was touching and deserving of a happy conclusion. James simply saw him as the neat solution to a pressing problem.
Perry was not Sophie’s only suitor. Her face, figure and, more pertinently, the wild-fire rumour she was an heiress, had aroused admiration in other quarters and she had already received three offers of marriage, one from an elderly roué, the other two from notorious fortune hunters. But when she declared no interest in these, James and his mother had been quick to renew their praise and encouragement of Perry. All of which led Sophie to conclude that time was of the essence.
Berating herself for being slow-witted, she realized James’s wedding must be planned for shortly after the betrothal announcement, which in turn must be imminent. He also did not want to explain to his fiancée what his childhood sweetheart was doing under his roof. Under these circumstances James, and by association his mama, were not averse to shuffling her into a hasty marriage with Perry while convincing themselves the match was in everyone’s interests.
She discussed this with Olivia when she called upon her in Grosvenor Square halfway through her third week in London, during a brief lull in the engagements Lady Verney had arranged. Lady Verney had been happy for Sophie to go as long as her maid accompanied her. She was impressed to discover the connection with the Dinniscombes, declaring Olivia was a fortunate girl and Sophie should do everything to encourage the acquaintance because Sir Seymour and his wife held a unique position in the ton.
With this advice ringing in her ears, Sophie nervously entered the m
agnificent saloon of the Dinniscombe town mansion, unsure what to expect. From her limited experience, the grande dames of the ton were usually eccentric or insufferably proud but, when Olivia introduced her to the lady on the sofa, Sophie discovered Harriet Dinniscombe was neither intimidating nor affected.
Dressed in a blue morning gown with a simple lace cap on her brown curls, her eyes held warmth, intelligence and an engaging twinkle. Harriet’s reputation as one of the most popular hostesses in London lay in an attractive face and gregarious nature, but also in the common sense she exuded. These qualities endeared her to everyone and none more so than her husband, who bustled in shortly after Sophie’s arrival.
The contrast between husband and wife was startling.
Unlike Lady Dinniscombe’s elegant but understated attire, Sir Seymour’s style was extraordinarily flamboyant. The starched points of his shirt collar almost reached his ears; his coat, clearly from the hands of a master, could only be donned with help, so closely did it fit his person. His cravat, arranged with astonishing intricacy, was wondrous to behold and the pale biscuit coloured pantaloons which adorned his legs showed not a single crease. A garish yellow and blue waistcoat was stretched around his girth. The silver tassels which decorated his Hessian boots danced in a jaunty fashion as he walked. Several fobs hung at his waist and suspended around his neck on a long, thin ribbon was a silver-mounted quizzing glass.
His dress suggested the empty-headed buffoon but, although Sir Seymour’s countenance was as amiable and open as his manners, the keen way he looked out upon the world gave a clue to the intellect behind his appearance.
Unfashionably, Sir Seymour adored his wife. He was one of the richest men in England as well as one of the most fashion conscious, but he had tramped two miles through deep snow on his Gloucestershire estate last Christmas, dressed in an old greatcoat and leather breeches, in order to oblige his spouse by delivering a food parcel to a gravely ill tenant. Sir Seymour and Harriet had been married for over a year, according to the letters Sophie had received from Olivia, but their affection was clearly deep, heartfelt and mutual. The ardent glance he bestowed upon his wife and the way he kissed her hand when he came into the room made Sophie wish she too could be so loved one day. This directed her thoughts towards Theo, but she wrenched them back from that futile route to concentrate on what Olivia was saying,
“…and Lady Dinniscombe and Sir Seymour have made me most welcome.”
Sophie, noting Olivia’s glowing features, thought she had never seen her looking more beautiful, or more confident. She wore a primrose-coloured morning dress of fine cambric, with trimmings of muslin Van-dyked at the edge. She was blossoming under Harriet and Sir Seymour’s care, although Olivia’s next comment made Sophie realize there was another reason.
“Mr. Grey has called several times,” explained Olivia. “He asks about you, Sophie, and says he intends to visit you soon.”
“Excellent fellow,” observed Sir Seymour, nodding.
“Do you know Mr. Grey well?” inquired Sophie, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I know him through…er…official channels,” said Sir Seymour, looking a little uncomfortable.
Sophie would have asked more, but Harriet intervened.
“How are you finding London, Miss Devereux?”
“Very well, although I have not managed to see as much of it as I would like.”
“Does your cousin Peregrine escort you?” Seeing her guest’s look of surprise, Harriet continued with a smile, “I hope you do not mind. Olivia has told me about your situation. She is worried her brother will make a nuisance of himself where you are concerned.”
“Is he, Sophie?” asked Olivia. “He has called here but once and, although I quizzed him, he would not be drawn into conversation about you.”
“Not really. I have managed to avoid him so far, despite James and his Mama encouraging me otherwise.”
Olivia’s brows rose. “Don’t they understand what sort of a man he is?”
“I don’t believe they do,” said Sophie.
Sir Seymour tapped his quizzing glass against his lower lip, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be wise if you talked to Lord Verney again about Peregrine.”
“I have tried,” confessed Sophie, “but James and Lady Verney are determined to find me a suitor quickly.”
“But what is this? Your friendship with James has not been rekindled then?” said Olivia, giving her a puzzled, searching look.
A flush stole into Sophie’s cheeks. “We have agreed we would not suit.”
“I see,” said Olivia, after a pause. “This changes matters completely. But then who is Lord Verney considering a suitable—” Seeing Sophie’s wry expression, Olivia squeaked in disbelief, “Perry!”
“I fear so,” she replied. “James is to be married soon—the betrothal has not yet been announced because the lady is still in black gloves. I can’t blame him for being reluctant to explain my presence to Lady Penelope Crighton, but he will consider no alternative. He is intransigent on the subject of me living with a chaperone and the only solution as far as James is concerned is for me to marry.”
A heavy frown had descended on Sir Seymour’s brow. He studied Sophie through his quizzing glass, but made no further comment and shortly afterward, he and Harriet left, leaving Sophie and Olivia alone.
When Sophie asked Olivia if she had heard from her mother, Olivia nodded and lost no time in voicing her concerns.
“Sophie, I dread the thought of going back! Sir Seymour and Lady Dinniscombe have been so kind and I’m ashamed to say I haven’t missed Mama or Perry at all. What about you? How are things in Brook Street? I’m so sorry to hear about you and James. I know how much you were looking forward to seeing him again.”
The colour in Sophie’s cheeks deepened, but she said firmly, “We’ve both changed and marriage is out of the question. You mustn’t think I’m sad about it, though, because I’m not. James has grown so pompous I hardly recognise him.” She gave a deep sigh. “I feel incredibly stupid and naïve, Livvy, but I can’t regret what has happened. If I hadn’t tried to reach James, we might never have got away from Ludstone. What has Sir Seymour said about Mr Grey?”
“Very little,” replied Olivia. “Both Lady Dinniscombe and Sir Seymour seem on good terms with him, but I don’t know where they met or how long they have been acquainted. He visits regularly, but he spends most of the time with Sir Seymour in the study discussing business.”
A little smile curved Sophie’s lips. “I’m sure he does not call purely for the pleasure of Sir Seymour’s company.”
“Even if that is so, I doubt anything will come of it. My instinct is to trust him, but he is not a man who is easy to know, or to understand,” said Olivia, with a little shrug.
Olivia dipped her head to hide her heated complexion, but Sophie was not fooled. She knew her cousin was attracted to Grey.
She could not blame her. He was a compelling man who treated Olivia with respect and admiration and she, in turn, seemed to grow more beautiful and confident in his presence, but knowing so little about him, Olivia was right to remain cautious.
“Sir Seymour did mention Mr Cavanagh,” said Olivia.
“What did he say?” asked Sophie eagerly.
“He told Mr Grey that Mr Cavanagh had gone to see his brother the Earl of Bramwell at Chenning, the family estate in Surrey and he would not be back for a few days. Mr Grey questioned Sir Seymour closely about when Theo would return. I can’t imagine why.”
“Nor I.”
“Could it have anything to do with the Star?”
“I don’t see how,” said Sophie, with a frown. “Theo advised me to be watchful, but nothing has happened since I’ve been in London. Absolutely nothing. Those incidents en route seem like bad dreams now.”
“Well, that is good news at least. What do you say to visiting the wild beasts at the Tower of London? The weather is set fine,” said Olivia, with a smile.
“I wo
uld like it very much. And as soon as I am able, I intend to visit Papa’s lawyer and ask him to organise a house and a suitable companion for us. One thing is certain, Livvy—we are neither of us going back to Ludstone.”
Chapter 11
When Theo arrived at Chenning, he sought out his brother at once. He found him in the library, an imposing room at the back of the house. It had always been one of Theo’s favourite places and when he walked in, he savoured its unique aroma of leather, beeswax and old books. It was a sober, masculine chamber with stone-coloured walls and a plasterwork ceiling. The patina on the bookcases glowed richly in the afternoon sun and dust motes danced in the air. The battered old reading chair was in its usual place near the window. The chair’s elbow rests and adjustable book stand meant it had been a source of fascination for the Cavanagh children and Theo smiled as he recalled squabbling with his sister Julia over who would sit on it first.
The dark-haired, broad-shouldered man seated at the massive mahogany desk in the centre of the room was deep in concentration. His hand moved fluidly across a sheet of paper as he wrote, but Harry Cavanagh, third Earl of Bramwell, universally known as Hal among his family and close friends, glanced up and grinned widely when he saw his brother.
“Theo!” He walked around the desk to grip his younger sibling’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Not that it matters, of course. Glad to see you any time! Isabella will be delighted. Dominic, too—he is forever complaining you don’t visit enough, so expect to be pressed into all manner of games and tomfoolery while you are here. You are staying, aren’t you?” Hal chuckled. “I can promise a good dinner in compensation for Dominic’s attentions.”
“I’ll be staying a day or so, if that is convenient?”
“Convenient? Don’t talk moonshine!” chided Hal, planting a playful punch on Theo’s shoulder. “You are always welcome. Mama will be pleased as well. She is coming over from the dower house for dinner. We have some other guests, you see.”
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