by Lara Temple
‘My dear Lady Swinburne!’ Lady Arkwright exclaimed brightly. ‘And Your Grace! Do please accept our heartfelt congratulations on your betrothal.’
Max gritted his teeth and made the introductions. Lady Melissa stood as cool and calm as ice, with the faintest of smiles as she surveyed Sophie from her superior height. By the colour that flooded Sophie’s cheeks it was obvious she recognised the young woman’s name and her murmured greeting and thanks were barely audible. It lasted no more than a moment before the Arkwrights moved on, making way for Lady Pennistone, looking alarmingly hawk-like, with her timid granddaughter in tow. The Dowager surveyed Sophie from head to toe and Sophie straightened, the colour ebbing from her cheeks and a distinctly martial look erasing the confusion of the previous moment, reminding Max of those rare moments when her temper had flared. He met Hetty’s eyes. It was clearly time to call a halt to the introductions for the night.
‘Minerva’s great-niece, is she?’ Lady Pennistone enquired of no one in particular, her tones anything but approving. ‘Doesn’t take after her, at least, but she can’t hold a candle to Lady Melissa or that other one,’ she added with a sniff.
‘Grandmama!’ her granddaughter said in a pained whisper.
‘You are quite correct, Lady Pennistone,’ Sophie answered before Max could think of anything to say. ‘And yet here I am, enjoying the pleasure of being introduced to you. Wondrous are the ways of the Lord, don’t you think?’
Bryanston gave a snort of quickly stifled laughter and Lady Pennistone huffed and marched off, her granddaughter glancing back apologetically at Sophie as she was dragged in her wake.
‘I think that’s enough introductions for the moment,’ Max said, taking Sophie by the arm and leading her towards the dance floor.
‘About time,’ Bryanston announced as he followed them. ‘Unspoken rule is that you have the first dance with your betrothed and if you don’t do it soon, I’ll never get my two dances, so go and dance, you two.’
‘An excellent idea, Bry. Come, Sophie.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ Sophie said as they took their places. ‘I think it was just one too many, especially after... Are you angry?’
‘Not at you. I’m sorry you had to be put through that. Not just that harridan, but some of the other as well.’ He shied away from mentioning Lady Melissa. Some things were better just ignored.
‘You needn’t be, it is hardly your fault that some people believe being well born gives them the right to be shockingly vulgar and impertinent. In that sense London is no different from what I am used to. I am usually less sensitive to such nonsense. Maybe it is because I am used to being on my home ground and...well, whatever. I will be better prepared next time.’
She sounded so determined he smiled.
‘Hopefully that was the worst of it. And after this dance I’m going to take Hetty’s advice and ask Sally to let you dance the waltz. I’m damned if I will be forced to dance nothing but country dances and quadrilles while we are in town. Do you waltz?’
‘I do indeed. Papa disapproves, but Mama and the other ladies of the Lynmouth Society which manages the Assembly Rooms will have no one say we are behind the times. They are very proud of their progressive views. There are even card parties!’
Max smiled at her tone. ‘Armageddon looms! So your mother defies the vicar? That’s not the image you painted.’
‘It’s not defiance because Papa knows better than to argue with Mama on social matters. There she reigns supreme. Or rather she and Mrs Stinchcombe and Lady Margaret, the squire’s wife. Papa merely says he hopes the increasing laxity of morals in Ashton Cove will not lead us all to regret we were not more forward in our efforts to instil caution and proper mores in today’s youth, but that he will defer to her judgement in the hope that her principles counsel her correctly.’
‘Good lord, he doesn’t really talk like that, does he?’
‘That is an expurgated version. He was master of debate at Oriel, but I think he only used to win because he talked everyone else to a standstill. You think it’s funny now, but only wait until you meet him!’ she scolded as Max burst out laughing, but her eyes were sparkling and he could even feel how the tension had vanished from her hand as the dance progressed.
They were separated for a moment by the dance and when she came towards him again he felt a peculiar surge of pride in how well she was taking this rather outrageous situation. When the dance ended he guided her towards a relatively quiet corner, handing her a glass of iced champagne from a tray held by a liveried footman.
‘Now that I think of it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side, ‘those introductions really weren’t so bad, under the circumstances. I expected it to be much worse. But I think people are a little scared of you.’
‘Scared? Nonsense.’
‘Well, wary, then. Even when they spoke with me they were watching you out of the corner of their eye the way people do around a dog who is currently calm, but which they know might bite. Definitely wary.’
‘I’m not sure what to think about being likened to a canine. A capricious one at that. Hetty will tell you I am boringly predictable.’
‘Are you?’
She looked up at him with clear curiosity, as if trying to reconcile what he said with some other, private, thought, and for a moment he had the strange sensation of losing track of himself. As if answering her called into question his ability to judge.
‘Yes. I am,’ he stated and her curious look was overtaken by the return of amusement.
‘You know best,’ she assented, clasping her hands in front of her.
‘Do you know you are a very poor liar?’
‘I know...it is very sad.’
‘Not at all. You father should be happy about that at least.’
‘I think he would be happy if I didn’t try at all, not that I don’t succeed. That quite a different thing, you see.’
Once again his amusement overcame some inner barrier of reluctance.
‘I think you are more like your father than you might like to admit. You would do very well in a debate yourself.’
Her eyes widened in surprise.
‘Oh, no, what a thought! I assure you I am not in the least like Papa!’
‘Of course. You know best,’ he countered meekly and she burst out laughing, but before she could answer Bryanston strode up to them, followed by Cranworth and a very pretty petite brunette with large dark eyes.
‘Here you are! I say, it’s dashed unchivalrous of you, Max! They are halfway through what was supposed to be my dance. Cranworth, you’ll be my second if I call Max out, won’t you?’
‘You know, some day someone will take you up on the offer of a duel, Bry,’ Cranworth said. ‘Good evening, Miss Trevelyan. Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Cranworth.’
Sophie smiled back at the brunette, who came forward impetuously and clasped her hands in hers.
‘I’m so happy to meet you! What a lovely gown! It is absolutely Parisian and I am quite, quite envious. Do come with me and I will make you known to some particular friends of mine...’
Without waiting for agreement she pulled Sophie in her wake.
‘Here! That was my dance!’ Bryanston called after them, but they were already lost in the crowd.
‘Don’t worry, Max, you know Sylvie, she’ll take good care of her.’ Cranworth smiled.
‘But what about my dance?’ Bryanston objected, outraged. ‘This is a conspiracy!’
‘Go ask Miss Pennistone, she was eyeing you back there,’ Max suggested.
‘Good lord, no, her grandmama will have my head on a platter. Next to your Sophie’s. I don’t think anyone has ever given her such a set down in years. Good for the gal. I’ll go find Hetty instead. At least she won’t have to worry about her wanting me to marry her
for the price of a dance.’
Max shook his head as Bryanston wandered off.
‘Remind me why we put up with that conceited pinkest of pinks of the ton, Max?’ Cranworth asked languidly and Max smiled absently, wondering if he should go and see how Sophie was faring.
‘Because he’s a good friend and would do anything for you as long as it didn’t involve waking up too early.’
‘True. Stop looking for Your Sophie, as Bry calls her. I have a feeling she can take care of herself, country miss or no. I’ve never seen you this anxious, not even when we ended up behind the French lines outside Toulouse. Between that and actually looking as if you were enjoying that country dance, you’re doing damage to your dour Duke image, you know.’
‘My what?’
Cranworth grinned. ‘That’s better. Now come and help me talk Meecham into selling me his long-tailed bays. Graham is after them as well, but Meech is a little scared of you and I could use the added pressure. You can go soft again once we’re done.’
‘You’re as bad as Bry sometimes, Rob.’
‘That’s right, hold that frown and we’ll be done before you know it.’
Max sighed, but followed Cranworth towards the card room. Cranworth was right—at least that it was ludicrous to be standing there waiting for Sophie to show up again like an anxious chaperon or a jealous lover. It was even more ridiculous that he felt like that. He told himself it was only because she was out of her element. If it had been Lady Melissa he probably wouldn’t have spared a thought about her welfare in such a setting. But he knew he could trust Sylvie Cranworth to take good care of her. Cranworth was just finalising his transaction when Sylvie and Sophie entered the room and Max scanned her face. She looked relaxed and happy and Max felt slightly foolish at how much tension left his body.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked under cover of the noise around them.
‘Surprisingly, yes. Lady Cranworth has been very nice. I like your friends. You are very lucky.’
‘I suppose I am. Though I could happily strangle Bry sometimes.’
‘Oh, no. He’s adorable.’
‘You sound like you are talking about Marmaduke. Just as long as you don’t take his flirting seriously.’
‘He’s not flirting and so there is nothing to take seriously. He is merely being kind in his way and it is clear it is out of affection for you, not out of any interest in me. He’s a good person.’
Max took her arm, leading her slightly further away from the rumble of people, aware he was simply seeking an excuse to touch her.
‘Is this a habit of yours? To see the good in whomever you meet?’
‘Most certainly it isn’t,’ she replied primly. ‘There aren’t that many people I really like, but those I do, I do.’
‘Summarily put. And you like Bry.’
‘And Hetty, and Sylvie, and Cranworth, I suppose, and you. That’s not such a very long list. Well, there are others back in Ashton Cove as well.’
He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended to be tacked on to a list.
‘And Marmaduke,’ he pointed out and she smiled up at him and he wished he could pull her into one of the embrasures that lined the ballroom and pull down the velvet curtains on all this noise and nonsense and sink in to her. He turned her so that she stood half in the shadow of a pillar while he blocked out the view of the rest of the room, creating an illusion of separateness.
‘There is a scale of preferences, though. I like you better than Marmaduke, for example,’ she said, her voice husky, inviting. The urge to touch her overcame prudence and he reached out and brushed his fingers over her lips. They parted, her indrawn breath cool against his skin.
‘I’m glad I rank higher than a pug.’
‘Just don’t tell him. He’s sensitive,’ she murmured, her eyes softening. He was beginning to recognise her expressions, and this one, languid, halfway to surrender, was devastating. His pulse surged ahead, setting a painful rhythm that wouldn’t relent until he made her match it. He almost reached out to pull her to him, but he leaned his hand on the wall beside her instead, drawing on the calming influence of its cool surface.
‘I won’t boast. Come, we should get back to the others before we are discovered in the corner.’
‘We aren’t doing anything wrong, though,’ she pointed out wistfully.
‘If we don’t leave now, we will be. And, no, that is not an invitation,’ he added as her eyes widened hopefully and she laughed and let him lead her back towards the main ballroom.
‘Very well. Besides, they are striking up the quadrille and I don’t want to be uncivil to Lord Bryanston.’
Max watched as Bry headed towards them purposefully and resisted the urge to tighten his hold on her arm. He had to remember his resolution to lead this relationship at his pace, not hers. In a few weeks he would have every right in the world to do something about this grating desire and he was perfectly capable of keeping his hands to himself until then. It was the laughter in her eyes that was worst. He couldn’t remember the last time humour had been part of his relationships, at least not with women, and he certainly had never realised its aphrodisiac qualities. Perhaps Cranworth was right, Serena and the war had fixed him into his...what had Cranworth called it...? His dour Duke image. And Sophie’s laughter was having the same lightening effect on him as the sight of the sea near Harcourt, the same call to throw off shackles, clothes, everything, and cast himself into its freedom. But it was deceptive, this freedom, because eventually he would have to return to his reality. He had to remember that.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I’m so dreadfully sorry about Grandmama’s behaviour yesterday!’
Sophie looked into Miss Pennistone’s anxious eyes. She hadn’t been sure what to expect when the young woman had approached her as she was seated by Hetty on the sofa in Mrs Bannerman’s drawing room. Hetty, with a quick glance at Sophie, stood up and went to join their hostess across the room, while Miss Pennistone, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down beside her and blurted out her apology.
‘Please don’t,’ Sophie said impulsively. ‘I’m afraid I was a bit nervous or I wouldn’t have answered as I did.’
‘Oh, I’m glad you did,’ Miss Pennistone answered, surprising Sophie. ‘No one ever naysays her. I wish I dared.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t intend to be quite so blunt again. It might feel good at the moment, but it has been sitting on my conscience since.’
Miss Pennistone giggled.
‘You are very droll. And I love your dress. I wish Grandmama would let me wear something so dashing. After all I am turned twenty, you know. Perhaps I might take better if I could wear something other than these plain round frocks.’
‘I think you look very pretty in them, but I must admit it is very enjoyable to wear these lovely dresses. I am not at all used to them either, but they do make me feel quite dashing.’
‘Well, I think you are dashing. Oh, dear, here comes Grandmama which means we must go now. I do hope we can speak again.’
She stood up and hurried over to the beckoning matron and Sophie smiled at the absurdity and being taken for an authority on anything fashionable. She scanned the room for Hetty just in time to see her step into the adjoining room with another fashionably dressed woman. Sophie sighed and resigned herself to some moments of social discomfort, trying to look unconcerned, when she suddenly saw Lady Melissa entering the room. Sophie, mentally beckoning Hetty back to the drawing room, tried to look fascinated by an advertisement for Denmark Lotion in the ladies’ magazine spread out on the low table in front of her.
‘May I?’
Sophie looked up in dismay to meet Lady Melissa’s very cool blue eyes.
‘May you what?’
‘Join you.’ Lady Melissa clarified sweetly.
&nbs
p; Sophie indicated the sofa, fully aware of the subtle change in the tone of conversation in the room around them.
‘Please do,’ she said, hoping her smile looked natural.
Lady Melissa at down, arranging her skirts with unconscious ease. She looked so lovely and assured Sophie felt her confidence sag. She could think of no way to deny the aggrieved beauty this attack, for that was clearly what it was, but she had no intention of serving as a spineless scratching post. She had found that the best way to deal with situations where she was out of her depth was to adopt the persona of her supremely placid sister Mary. Somehow Mary never appeared to be upset by anything, not even when a whole tray of ices had landed in her lap while attending a dance at the Lynmouth Assembly Hall.
‘So, Miss Trevelyan, are you enjoying London?’
‘Very much, Lady Melissa,’ Sophie replied. ‘Such lovely weather we are having.’
Lady Melissa blinked at the inanity of her reply.
‘Indeed. Well. It cannot be easy knowing how to conduct oneself when one is clearly unaccustomed to town life. I trust everyone is being kind?’
Sophie kept her face politely blank, thinking hard of Mary.
‘Oh, most kind. It is so very good of you to be interested.’
Lady Melissa’s smile did not waver, but Sophie could feel her annoyance heat up.
‘Not at all. I believe I overheard Lady Swinburne say you are doing a portrait of her?’
Sophie straightened at the disdainful amusement in the question.
‘So I am. You are more than welcome to come see it if you wish.’
This was a little too much for Lady Melissa and her eyes flashed for a moment before she had herself in hand again.
‘Why, how kind of you. It is quite nice that you and Lady Swinburne deal well together. I believe my mama told me she was not very fond of Harcourt’s previous fiancée, but that was a long time ago. Perhaps it was just a touch of jealousy. After all, Lady Serena was a legendary beauty. A diamond of the first water, Mama said. What a sad, sad tragedy.’