I was still sitting there, thinking through our conversation, when he suddenly burst back into the library and hugged me awkwardly. 'Mustn't forget about the older babies too,' he muttered.
The night of Almack's autumn ball arrived at last and I could not have been more excited – especially now that the chaos I had created in my life had largely been put to rights, and my darling mother was fit and well.
Lucy and I wanted to arrive at the ball together, so Mrs Willow, Estella, Mr Dovetail and I went in our coach to collect Lucy and Lady Lennox. Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox looked quite splendid. Mrs Willow wore a lavender satin gown with lace trim, while the normally rather drab Lady Lennox looked delicate in softest rose-pink.
Of course Lucy looked wonderful in a white cape worn over a clear sky-blue unstructured gown, and my sister was a picture in Wedgwood green satin.
I wore my beautiful new gown – which was of French design in a soft shade of duck-egg blue, the fabric falling in chiffon folds from a high waist. Lily had surpassed herself with the most exquisite of hairstyles for me. Dear Estella said it would set a new trend it was so lovely. Instead of ringlets, my dark hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, and then a few soft tendrils were allowed to fall onto my face.
I didn't know what to expect from the evening or who would be there, although it was safe to assume that everyone in high society, returning from their summer breaks in the country, would attend.
'Oh, Sophie, isn't this nice? Back to our old ways,' said Lucy as we all climbed into the large coach, with three rows of seats.
'Here, here,' muttered Mrs Willow.
We all laughed merrily together as Lucy led us in a sing-song based around a rhyme she had made up about all the odd people at the top of London society. She insisted we all sing the chorus, which went:
The Royals are bad:
Our King is mad,
His son's a cad,
His wife is sad . . .
Even Mr Dovetail seemed to be on good form that night, and his mean streak was much less evident anyway since he'd been staying with us in London. Before we knew it, we had arrived at Almack's, which was bright with lanterns and torches at the entrance. There were sounds of giggles and chattering all around as we made our way up the vast staircase towards the ballroom. The whole place was decorated with autumn flowers and golden decorations. We gave our capes to a door girl and were issued with a number for them.
The band was playing cheerful dance music. We paraded along beside the dance floor, as one must, and found that our dance cards began to fill up quite quickly.
I hardly dared confess to myself that I was feeling rather disappointed Mr Hughes was not there. I looked around for him, over heads and in vast mirrors, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, midway through a cotillion with a pleasant but uninspiring gentleman called Mr Palmer, I caught sight of him at the edge of the dance floor. My cheeks felt as though they were on fire, so I quickly looked away. I couldn't be sure he would come to talk to me after the dance, but I was determined to regain some composure in case he did.
I curtsied at the end of the dance and went back to join Mrs Willow, Estella and Mr Dovetail.
'He's coming over!' whispered Estella.
'Who is?' I asked nonchalantly.
'Why, Mr Hughes, of course!' she replied.
'Oh, him,' I said, admiring my pretty bracelet as he approached. I was desperate to conceal the flush in my cheeks that betrayed how pleased I was to see him.
'Good evening,' he said to us all. 'I trust you are well, Miss Musgrove?' he added, turning to me.
'Oh, yes. Very well indeed, thank you,' I replied.
'Do you have any spaces on your dance card?' he asked.
'Er, yes, three spaces, Mr Hughes, it would seem,' I told him.
'How fortunate. I was planning to dance exactly three times this evening, Miss Musgrove, so it seems we are fated to dance together thrice,' he concluded.
I smiled. 'Well, I look forward to seeing you after the next dance in that case,' I replied. He bowed and left us at that point.
'Well done, Sophie,' said Mrs Willow. 'That is better behaviour!'
I rolled my eyes. 'He has no romantic interest in me, and I have none in him,' I told her emphatically. 'We are just friends.'
I suppose I am quite a good dancer, even though I never go to the classes I'm supposed to attend. I certainly enjoyed dancing with Mr Hughes, who is also a fine dancer when he can be bothered to try. Thankfully, he was too discreet to mention the King's Theatre incident, and though I worried that I might seem dull, we chatted together so easily that the three cotillions passed in the blink of an eye.
He took me back to my seat and bade us all goodnight.
'You are leaving already, Mr Hughes?' said Estella. 'Is the ball not to your taste?'
'I came to dance three times, and now that is done, there is no more pleasure to be had,' he explained with a small smile and a bow.
We all watched him leave, and apart from Lucy, who was dancing with the sons of all the English nobles, we felt rather deflated when he was gone.
'I have bored him! See, Mrs Willow! When I behave nicely, I am dull!' I said, teasing her.
'He said that all his pleasure was over after the three dances. I take that to mean he enjoyed the dances, Sophia,' she observed.
'He thinks me a silly child,' I protested, remembering the night of the rescue from the theatre. And, indeed, I did wonder how he could take me seriously after that embarrassing escapade.
I went out for some air and saw Leonora Pink in conversation with Mr Hughes near the carriages. They looked like a lovely couple and I did not want them to think I was spying so I went back inside.
As the evening wore on, I was confirmed in my long-held belief that balls are not for me. I wanted to have deep conversations with fascinating people, discover some great eternal truth – or at least whirl around the dance floor properly with a gentleman like Mr Hughes who really knows how to dance! But the endless jigs with the vapid young men that one mostly has to endure at a ball? No, thank you.
In the carriage on the way home, I bored everyone with my analysis of Mr Hughes's behaviour. 'If he liked me, he would have stayed to watch me,' I observed.
'Or perhaps seeing you dance with other men drives him wild with jealousy!' Lucy suggested.
I shook my head. 'He isn't the jealous type.'
'Until now!' she shot back.
'No, I think he simply wanted to be polite,' I decided.
'Time will tell,' offered Mrs Willow, boringly.
'But I want to know right now!' I wailed. Then I recovered my decorum. 'I mean, I don't care one way or another about him, but a girl has to know where she stands,' I concluded.
Everyone smiled and looked out of the window – even Mr Dovetail, who did not dare to comment on such delicate matters.
Thankfully, dear Lucy soon distracted everyone with a risqué joke she had heard at the ball.
I spent the next few days wondering what Mr Hughes might be doing, and what he really thought of me, and I found myself absently sketching him when I took my drawing pad out into the garden. 'Stop this nonsense, Sophie!' I told myself. 'He thinks you are no more than a silly little girl!'
A week later Lucy and I met at Harvey's coffee house to discuss our forthcoming appointments while Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox chatted happily together.
We had brought all our latest invitations so that we could open them together.
'What do we have for next weekend?' I asked.
'Well, I have a Saturday salon in Greenwich with the poet Samuel Coleridge,' Lucy said.
'Let me open this one,' I said. 'Oh, we have a clash!' I exclaimed. 'We are asked to a weekend house party at Mr Hughes's country home. Whatever shall we do?' I wondered, secretly more interested in the prospect of seeing Mr Hughes again, and enjoying his easy conversation, than in a poetry salon.
'Oooh, Greenwich, definitely!' teased Lucy. 'I love the works of Coleridge.'
> 'Very well,' I agreed nobly.
'Although, it might be fun to see Mr Hughes's country house. I've heard it is quite splendid,' Lucy went on.
'Very well, Mr Hughes's it is then,' I concluded. 'Just to be polite – since he saved my life!' I added.
'Of course, just to be polite!' giggled Lucy. 'Why, Sophie Musgrove! I do believe you are blushing!'
'Nonsense. He really isn't my type,' I said firmly.
Lucy clearly decided to let it go. 'Are you done with campaigning?' she asked, sweetly changing the subject.
'Not exactly. I have some important work to do for Lily's brother. He has been bullied by a horrid factory owner, you see, and I thought we could—'
'Oh, no! No more secret missions!' said Lucy, throwing her gloves at me playfully.
I caught them and laughed. 'Don't worry, I am going to approach life more carefully from now on,' I assured her. 'And there's going to be a lot more dancing and a lot less deception.'
'I should think so!' she said with a smile.
And so we sipped our hot chocolates and chatted merrily about our other invitations, and which outfits to take to Mr Hughes's weekend house party, and my life felt more full of hope and happiness than it had in some time.
'Lucy, about the house party . . .' I began, once all our fashion decisions had been made.
Lucy nodded enquiringly.
'I'm only going if Dinky can come too!' I said.
The Secrets of Sophia Musgrove Page 15