Page 25 of The Chaperone
Sophy did not think this the moment to reveal that she thought that particular eventuality unlikely as well as unwelcome.
‘I am leaving within the hour. Deeping says there is a full moon and we will reach Stanmore before it gets dark and should get to Aldenham before eight.’ She looked at her eldest child. ‘I have the fullest confidence in you, Sophronia. It is such a pity that I did not have another few weeks to see how events were unfolding. If only one had some indication of interest. I do not count Bollington as at all certain, as yet, and with his mama in town … We can but hope. Do your best, Sophronia.’
‘I shall, Mama.’ Sophy felt as she imagined some officers must have felt during the War, upon being sent as the Forlorn Hope.
She had of course prepared herself to ‘take the reins’ for the latter part of the Season, but it had been assumed that, by that stage, if any young gentlemen looked likely to make an offer they would have become apparent and been given an indication as to whether or not their suit might be accepted. Yet here they were with the Season barely fully begun and their guiding hand, with many years’ experience, was being withdrawn. Sophy’s heart sank.
Lord Rothley spent a long time with his pen not quite making contact with the paper, and had to dip it once more into the ink. There were letters of importance in which the question was quite simple, but phrasing that question terribly difficult. This letter was one such. He had nothing firm upon which to base his question, merely circumstantial evidence, but that evidence crowded his mind. Tyneham was not a man he either liked or respected, but that the man’s reaction had been so starkly antagonistic indicated far more than just a vague natural antipathy. Tyneham had actually been outraged, but, being Tyneham, had then behaved like a nodcock. Lady Sophy clearly had as little idea as he himself what had caused this choler, but she was likely to make assumptions. What she would not know was the other half of the tale, and after all, it was most likely not very edifying.
If the answer came back as he expected, and he had little reason to doubt that it would, he was in a predicament. He threw the fourth draft the way of its predecessors, into the flames of the fire which burnt merrily in the grate, at odds with his mood. He drew another sheet towards him, sighed, and began again.
It was twenty minutes later that he achieved something he thought worthy of his signature. He sealed the letter and addressed it, noting the irony of the title, to the Right Honourable, the Earl of Woodhall, at a snug little address in Vienna.
Within the closed circle of Society, information spread like wildfire, whether one wished it to do so or not. Thus, two evenings later, Sophy had to listen to the best wishes mixed with tales of past deliveries, mostly difficult, from a dozen ladies expressing their sympathy for young Lady Tattersett. If all were to be believed, such a thing as a straightforward birth was as rare as hen’s teeth. Sophy bore it all with a good grace. After all, everyone was being kind.
That her ‘elevation’ to permanent chaperone might constrain her own pleasures was accepted. She would be able to dance only very occasionally, and when both her charges had suitable partners. She resigned herself to the gossipy company of the mamas. Lady Orpington sat with her some time, whilst Susan began the very dangerous ploy of trying to make Lord Bollington jealous by flirting with Lord John Hythe, and Harriet was engaged with the Misses Tichborne.
‘You need not trouble yourself, my dear. Your mama explained the situation to me, and I assure you the Presentation will be no trouble to me. As for any other little worries you may have, do feel free to consult me as you would her. You are such a sensible young woman, and have enough experience not to be cast into a panic by nothings, but there may be some point where you are unsure how to proceed and, well, you know my direction.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, I shall endeavour not to pester you with trifles, but shall most certainly call upon you if at a loss. My biggest concern is one where, unfortunately, I think only my Mama could direct me, and that would be if any gentlemen showed signs of being particular in their attentions to my sister or cousin.’
‘Ah yes, that might be difficult for you. Mind you, if Bollington remains as interested …’
‘Having seen my cousin out of the corner of my eye during our conversation, ma’am, I would not be too sure that my cousin Susan is not at this very minute putting him off completely.’
Lady Orpington’s gaze followed Sophy’s.
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes, if your ladyship will excuse me, I shall attempt to prevent a disaster.’
Sophy rose, and glided over to where Susan was being more than a little obvious. Lord John Hythe was mesmerised, and Sophy had to repeat her question before he gave himself a shake and answered her.
‘My sister Cassington, ma’am? Oh yes, she is well, but my niece and nephew both had the croup or some such, over the winter, and it caused her much concern, and she is awaiting a happy event in June.’
Susan glared at her cousin as she steered Lord John into polite conversation about mutual acquaintance, and thereby distracted him from herself. Knowing none of those mentioned, she was set on the periphery of the exchange. Her expression became sulky, but underwent a change as she espied Sir Esmond Fawley and Lord Rothley in conversation a few yards’ distant. She waved her fingers at them and smiled. Lord Rothley might have been in her bad books but two days since, but he could still be useful.
‘Do we answer the summons, do you think?’ murmured Rothley, indicating Miss Tyneham’s gesticulations with a small movement of the head.
‘What game is she playing tonight, I wonder?’ asked Sir Esmond, trying not to smile in a way the young lady would undoubtedly find patronising.
‘Bizarrely, she seems to be doing her utmost to put young Bollington off, which strikes me as very odd.’ Lord Rothley frowned.
‘Found someone better?’ volunteered Sir Esmond, acknowledging her with a nod. ‘Shall we be brave and find out?’
He moved through the throng towards her, Lord Rothley following. Her smile was, it had to be admitted, the sort that stopped a man in his tracks.
‘Sir Esmond,’ she crooned, ‘and the censorious Lord Rothley, who dislikes scarlet coats.’ Her gaze challenged; the words teased.
‘What’s that? Dislikes scarlet …’ Sir Esmond looked at Lord Rothley in surprise.
‘No, Miss Tyneham, you misconstrue my words. I do not dislike them, I merely advocated that you should not like them so easily.’
‘Perhaps you were jealous?’ she quizzed him, and flirted with her fan.
‘I think not, ma’am, but you see most gentlemen do not suffer from jealousy early in an acquaintanceship. If the lady shows interest elsewhere, well, it would be unchivalrous to stop her. You may well find that is exactly the reaction of young Bollington, for whom I gather this particular scene is being enacted.’
Her eyes glittered, angrily.
