by Anne Ashley
There was a moment's silence, then, "Because you have shown no preference for any particular gentleman's company since your arrival in town, there are those who are only too willing to believe that there might be some truth in the rumours that were circulating on the night of your own ball, that you do, indeed, prefer the company of a— er—rougher type of person."
"Oh no," Sophia murmured, the muscles in her stomach twisting themselves into painful knots of anger, and bitter regrets. For the second time in the space of two short weeks she was being made to suffer the consequences of her own folly. There was no denying the fact that she herself was wholly responsible for this current gossip. She didn't mind so much for herself, but she had no wish for the rumours to reach her dear mother's ears, especially not now.
"You are certainly not without your champions," Robina assured her in an attempt to lessen her friend's evident distress. "Mama dismissed the talk with an impatient wave of her hand, saying that you had been reared to show consideration to servants, no matter how lowly their place in the Earl's household." A sudden glint in her eyes betrayed the sportive element in her nature which very few had been privileged to experience. "And Lord Nicholas Risely was overheard to say he wasn't in the least surprised that you betray a marked partiality for your personal groom, since he happened to know for a fact that the servant was responsible for saving you from falling beneath the wheels of a carriage one morning in Bond Street."
"Lord Nicholas said that?" A reminiscent smile curled up the corners of her mouth. "A slight exaggeration," she admitted, "but I'm grateful to him, all the same."
"To be sure, I didn't know whether to believe him or not, for I felt certain you would have told me if anything of that nature had happened to you." That sportive gleam flickered once again. "But that didn't prevent me from assuring any one who asked for confirmation that it was perfectly true."
Sophia could feel the tension in her slowly ebbing. "You're a good friend, Robin. One of the best," she told her, bringing a rush of colour to delicate cheekbones.
Although it would have afforded her much pleasure to show her utter contempt for the gossips by ignoring the rumours about her and continuing to behave as usual, Sophia knew that for her mother's sake she could not. The Countess had done everything humanly possible to make their stay in town a happy one. Even during the past trying days, when she had been forced to contend with the Earl's almost reclusive behaviour, she had continued to be an unfailing source of comfort and support, and the least Sophia could do in return was to try to avoid causing her mother further anxiety.
So when she left the house early in the afternoon to enjoy her customary daily ride, she was determined to behave with the utmost propriety, as befitted her station in life. Unfortunately the resolve, unselfishly motivated though it was, had been made without taking into account the feelings of someone whose companionship had come to mean rather more to her than she yet realised.
The instant Benedict saw her emerge from the house, and noted the tense set of those delicate features, he suspected that something had occurred to disturb the calm waters of her mind. The faint, well-bred nod in response to his greeting succeeded in confirming this belief, and the lack of invitation to ride beside her put the suspicion that all was not as it should be beyond doubt.
Racking his brains to think of what he might have said or done to upset her, Benedict followed out of the square, keeping a discreet distance. Nothing very obvious sprang to mind. In fact, he remembered quite clearly that they had parted very amicably after their ride the previous afternoon, during which they had discussed a variety of topics ranging from the war with France to the appalling conditions endured by the London poor. So he was fairly certain that he was not responsible for her present decidedly frosty mood.
Having worked in the Earl of Yardley's stables for over a month, he had by this time acquired a fair knowledge of Sophia's character, and infatuated though he still might be, he certainly wasn't blind to her faults. She could still be disturbingly impetuous on occasions, and was frequently outspoken, but these slight flaws only seemed to enhance her charm. Added to which, it was very much to her credit that she wasn't in the least missish, nor prone to take a pet over mere trifles. He was forced to conclude, therefore, that she must have a sound reason for treating him with complete indifference.
He couldn't prevent a wry smile from curling his lips as he considered his present unenviable situation. Had he truly been a groom, born and bred to the life, he would probably have accepted his young mistress's indifference to his presence without so much as a blink. But he was Sharnbrook, with proud aristocratic blood flowing through his veins, and he'd be damned if he would tolerate being ignored by the young woman who was destined to become his Duchess!
The instant she glimpsed that tall figure looming alongside Sophia could feel the tension in her steadily mounting, but the command for him to fall back a pace which rose in her throat lacked the conviction to reach her lips. How could she now begin to treat this man-like a servant when she had never done so before? Impossible to tell him to remember his station in life when she herself was finding it increasingly difficult not to think of him as an equal!
She risked a sideways glance in his direction, noted that those strikingly clear blue eyes regarding her in turn totally lacked even the smallest degree of deference, and could not help wondering if she had been slightly at fault to allow him so much licence. Yet, she reminded herself, it was quite understandable in the circumstances why she had done so.
Without having really been aware of it she had, she supposed, instinctively turned to Ben for that wholly masculine companionship which she had enjoyed with her father over the years, but which had been denied her during recent days. It had not seemed in the least odd to do so either, for Ben was an attentive listener, and an interesting conversationalist whose frequent pithy remarks had never failed to make her laugh. Strangely enough, his views on many topics were not dissimilar to her father's, and she couldn't help thinking that if he lost that rich country burr, and was dressed appropriately, he would not seem in the least out of place at either White's or Boodle's, depending on his political views, of course. She felt certain, too, that many of the famous society hostesses would not object to his gracing their elegant drawing-rooms, either.
The thought made her chuckle, and she turned her head to discover the object of her thoughts regarding her with a faint look of surprise.
"Well, thank heavens for that!" he announced in a distinctly half-mocking tone. "I was beginning to think you'd suffered a death in the family. Or, worse still, that I had fallen from favour."
"Oh, no. That would never happen," she assured him softly.
Her smile faded as they rode side by side into the overcrowded park, and she noticed a certain notorious gossip in an open carriage snickering behind her hand as she glanced in their direction. "It's hateful tabbies like Lady Tockington, over there, who put me out of temper. Is her life so empty, so grossly uninteresting, that she can find nothing better to do than spread malicious untruths about people?"
Having always kept half an eye open for any old friends who, although not having seen him for more than five years, might quite easily penetrate his disguise, Benedict had been aware for several days that he and Sophia had been the object of no little attention, and could guess precisely what was being said about them. The best way of dealing with the situation, of course, was simply to ignore it, for sooner or later the gossips would find a new object on which to vent their spite. Unfortunately, his position was, to say the least, slightly precarious. Although he felt fairly certain that his disguise had not been penetrated thus far, he wasn't so very confident that it could withstand too close a scrutiny, and being discovered now just might result in his losing completely what he had been striving so hard to attain.
He returned his gaze to his future wife's lovely profile, slightly marred now by a very disgruntled expression. "Perhaps it might be wise in the circumstances, my lad
y, to engage Mr Trapp as your escort, at least until the gossips have turned to a new source with which to ply their despicable trade," he suggested, and was faintly surprised when she immediately nodded her head in agreement.
"Ordinarily, Ben, I wouldn't care a jot what was being said about me," she admitted. Upset and annoyed though she was, she could not prevent a tiny rueful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "The fact of the matter is I do like you, and I really do not care who knows it."
She glanced at him then, but a little too late to see the gleam of satisfaction her admission had brought momentarily to his eyes. "But for once, I'm not thinking of myself. My poor mother has enough to contend with at the moment without having to concern herself with nasty rumours about me."
Sophia did notice his slightly puzzled frown, and without a second thought decided to confide in him. "The Earl has been behaving very strangely of late. I've never known him act this way before. He's almost in an enclosed world of his own, shutting both Mama and me out. If he were ill, I could understand it, and make allowances, but I do not believe his health is the issue here."
Although he had never had any personal dealings with the Earl, Benedict had discovered from Trapp that his lordship was in remarkably good health for a man of his advanced years. He also knew about his lordship's unexpected short absence from town the previous week, and suggested that something might have happened while the Earl had been away to cause him some concern.
Sophia considered this for a moment, then shook her head. "I remember quite clearly that something had upset him the day before he left the capital. Besides," she shrugged, "I discovered only this morning that he paid a visit to our country home when he left London."
"And what do you suppose prompted him to visit there?" Benedict asked, not so much interested in the Earl's activities as concerned over Sophia's peace of mind. She was evidently worried about her father, and anything that troubled her was of immense importance to him now.
"He was seen riding towards Steepwood Abbey," she confided, "so one can only assume that he had every intention of visiting Sywell. But just why Papa should suddenly take it into his head to do so, and at such a time, remains a mystery."
Benedict thought it rather odd too. Then memory stirred. "I recall your mentioning once that your father was intent on buying the Abbey. Perhaps he had learned that Sywell is at last considering selling the place, and was determined to put in his bid before any one else was given the chance. After all, Sywell has no near relatives to whom he could bequeath the property."
"That isn't strictly true," she corrected, smiling faintly. "There's always his Marchioness."
Stunned, Benedict almost found himself gaping. When on earth had Sywell taken the matrimonial plunge? It must have been during the time that he himself had been away in the Caribbean. However, he was more inclined to think that his darling girl, possessing something of a teasing nature, was hoaxing him.
"It's true," she assured him, having no difficulty whatsoever in following his train of thought. "He married his bailiff's ward, a young woman of about my own age. Young enough to be Sywell's granddaughter!''
"Good gad!" he said faintly, no longer doubting her word.
"One can only suppose that after years of producing illegitimate offspring, he felt inclined to produce a legitimate one." She shrugged. "Though whether he succeeded or not is anyone's guess."
"Highly unlikely, I should say. He's left it rather late to consider producing an heir."
"Well, I wouldn't know about such things," she freely admitted. "Though I dare say you might be able to enlighten me," she added, when broad shoulders distinctly shook with suppressed laughter.
"I dare say I could, and might well do so when I consider you old enough to know about such things."
Such familiarity was deserving of a severe reprimand, but Sophia found herself laughing, something which she had not done in several days. "You are an impudent rogue, Benjamin Rudgely, and I really don't know why I bear with you. It will be a relief to have the respectful Trapp escorting me from now on." But nothing could have been further from the truth, and she suspected that the tall man riding beside her knew that perfectly well.
With the possible exception of her father, there was no one whose company she preferred more than Benjamin Rudgely's. Unlike a great many gentlemen with whom she associated during the evenings, Benedict was never dull, nor ever at a loss to introduce a new and interesting topic on which to converse, and, most important of all, he never required an explanation if she ever ventured a mild witticism or slightly provocative remark. He was quite simply exceptionally good company, and possibly one of the most interesting members of his sex she had ever met. Which made her ponder anew on why he was working in a situation that was far, far beneath his capabilities.
Casting a further sideways glance, she caught him staring about, those intelligent, clear blue eyes of his scanning the other occupants of the park in a way that was anything but respectful. Yes, she mused, there was certainly something proud in his bearing; one might even go so far as to say haughty. It was almost as if he did not consider those wealthy members of society who were now parading in their finery in any way superior to himself, and she truly felt that if he ever did manage to lose the countrified burr, and was dressed appropriately, he certainly would not seem in the least out of place in the most fashionable London salons.
She shook her head at the thought, wondering if she were not allowing her sincere regard for the man riding beside her to cloud her judgement. Yet, at the same time, although Ben had never once attempted to confide, in her, she could not rid herself of the feeling that he had at some time in the not too distant past enjoyed a far more comfortable existence than he did now living with Trapp above the stables. She strongly suspected too that he had held a far more responsible position, one where he had issued the orders, not taken them. So why in heaven's name, she wondered, had he accepted work in a stable, when he was capable of doing so very much more? Was it simply that he had been unable to find a more responsible position since his return to England, or was there, perhaps, some underlying reason for his doing what he was doing now?
Benedict, turning his head suddenly, caught the pensive look, and completely misjudging the reason behind the expression, said, "If you take my advice, my lady, you will not worry too much over your father. No one can possibly go through life without being troubled over something from time to time. The Earl, it sounds to me, is the kind of man who will confide in others only when he's ready to do so, and not before."
And he is by no means the only one, Sophia decided, surprisingly realising that her father and the man at her side were not so very dissimilar. Which was most strange, because they could not possibly have very much in common...Or could they?
"My lady, you mentioned when first I came to work for your family that I might take some time off to visit my relatives," he remarked, breaking into her perplexing thoughts, "and I was wondering whether you'd permit me to pay a visit to my brother later this afternoon?"
She didn't take even a moment to consider the matter. "Of course you may. I'm sure Trapp can manage quite well without you for an hour or so. In fact, I wish I could accompany you. The atmosphere in the house at the moment is strained to say the least." There was an element of recklessness in her sudden laughter. "Why, if my father's mood doesn't improve soon, I shall be very tempted to accept the very next gentleman who offers for me, if only as a means to get away from Berkeley Square!"
Benedict certainly did not find this in the least amusing, and his high intelligent forehead was noticeably marred by a deeply troubled frown as he fell back a few paces in order to allow one of her many admirers to draw alongside.
Chapter Nine
Before embarking on what he had once considered nothing more than a harmless little subterfuge, Benedict had arranged with his brother that, unless something arose urgently requiring his attention, there should be little or no contact between them.
&
nbsp; Nicholas had wholeheartedly agreed, for there was always the chance that some observant devil seeing them together just might perceive the slight family resemblance, and even he, inveterate prankster that he was, balked at the mere thought of trying to explain to the world at large just why his estimable brother, whose return to fashionable society had been eagerly awaited for some little time, was masquerading as a common groom.
So he was a little surprised when, later that same day, the parlour door opened, and his brother unexpectedly came striding into the room. "Good gad!" Nicholas exclaimed, abruptly losing interest in the novel which was causing no little sensation in fashionable circles. "Taking something of a risk coming here, weren't you? Supposing you were seen?"
"I took the precaution of not attempting to gain admittance by way of the front entrance." Swiftly realising that he would wait in vain for an invitation, Benedict lowered his tall frame into the chair opposite. "It's surprising how quickly one grows accustomed to behaving like a servant. It's almost second nature to me now."
"I'll take your word for that," Nicholas responded, with an acute feeling of distaste, the mere thought of entering a dwelling by way of the area steps making him shudder. "Evidently the novelty of playing the lowly groom has not diminished quite yet?"
Benedict's expression betrayed his feelings clearly enough even before he said, "On the contrary, I'm heartily sick of it!"
Nicholas's sudden shout of laughter held an unmistakable note of triumph. "I knew it would be only a matter of time before you lost interest in the delectable Sophia and turned your eyes in quite a different direction. Who's the filly that's taken your fancy now?"
Hardly the most flattering testament to one's constancy, Benedict decided, but he couldn't find it within himself to be in the least annoyed with his brother for thinking so poorly of him. If he were honest, he would be forced to admit that, when he had been Nicholas's age, he had been something of a feckless fribble, faithful to no female for any length of time.