Page 45 of The Chaperone
‘Then the day after? Lady Harriet, you must permit me—’
‘I am not sure that “must” comes into it, Lord Edward.’ Sophy murmured.
‘Not must, no, but I implore you …’
‘Will you be attending Lady Cleobury’s rout on Friday?’
Lord Edward blinked. The question threw him.
‘Yes, I believe so, but—’
‘Then I think we shall see you on Friday evening, my lord.’ Sophy hoped he was not slow in taking her meaning.
‘Yes, but—’
‘On Friday evening, then. Good day to you, my lord.’
‘Friday. Oh, yes, Friday evening.’ He tried to give Harriet a speaking look, but she did not raise her eyes. He saluted them and passed on, not quite sure whether to be hopeful or even more gloomy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sophy had thought it good fortune that theevening was one of the few when they were not engaged elsewhere. After the tumult of their ball, she had anticipated it would be good to have a quiet evening and early night. In view of what had actually taken place this was even more the case, except that dinner was a ghastly and embarrassing affair. Harriet could scarcely bear to speak to Susan, who therefore addressed her as frequently as possible, upon subjects which were perfectly bland, but simply a way of making her more uncomfortable. She was also pointedly avoiding conversation with Sophy. If she felt the slightest remorse, there was no sign of it.
None of the three ladies did justice to the dishes set before them, and Harriet begged to retire before the tea tray was brought in, because she had the headache. Susan remained, determined not to slink off. She sat quite upright, playing patience, knowing her cousin found her presence a trial. Well, if her life was to be hemmed in, she would not make it easy for those who did so.
Sophy looked at the clock, wondering if Susan would continue until the small hours just to prove she would not be the first to ‘give in’ and retire. She returned to the book she was not reading, not even bothering to turn the pages, and tried to imagine how she was going to explain these weeks to her mama. Harriet’s plight was, she prayed, temporary. The haggard look of her errant beau should have taught her one thing, at least; he was feeling as terrible as she was. Sophy had no doubt that Lord Edward wanted to beg forgiveness, and, if forgiven, might well seek to secure Harriet’s hand both as a sign of his commitment and to make him feel comfortable again. She was almost sure Harriet would forgive him, and forgiveness was needed, even though she kept saying she did not blame him. Her reaction today had been still full of upset, but by Friday she might have reached a state of calm. She might speak to her sister about giving him the benefit of the doubt. It had been male folly, but in the catalogue of sins, very small, if Harriet could come to see it that way.
‘Benefit of the doubt’ brought her own situation to mind. She had told Harriet she had not come to London to find a husband, and it was true. She had certainly not come to London to fall in love, but she very much feared she had succumbed to it, like an attack of the measles. Why could she have not fallen in love with Sir Esmond Fawley? He would be a lifelong friend, a gentleman with whom she could laugh, and whose perspicacity would never fail to surprise her; yet she felt nothing more than friendship. She was convinced he felt the same way about her. Had there not been someone who had touched her heart, they could have made a very contented match; but someone had. Lord Rothley haunted her dreams, and intruded into her waking thoughts. When he was close by, her skin tingled, her chest felt tight, and when his eyes met hers she trusted, totally, foolishly. When apart she could, just, resist him, but in his presence her resistance was overcome. This is what it was like to be seduced by a rake. She had considered herself so sensible, yet here was every fibre of her being wanting to be cherished by him. Only her sensible brain stood, if not firm, then at least still only teetering on the edge of succumbing to those eyes, the smile with that wolfish twist, the voice that made her yearn to tell him all the troubles that beset her.
Her heart put up the valid question; why should a rake set his sights upon her? She was at her last prayers by the standards of the debutantes about her, and she was memorable for her height, not her beauty. Heart’s answer was that, be he never so dangerous a rake, he was drawn quite genuinely to her by some unfathomable attraction. Head responded that she was just a different sort of challenge.
Susan had taunted her about being a woman no man had kissed, had even wanted to kiss. She had thought herself to be of a dispassionate nature, because this had not concerned her in the past, but oh, if Susan did but know how that had changed. She did not want to know how it felt to be kissed, she wanted to know how it felt to be kissed by Lord Rothley. When they had danced, when she had been so close in brief moments that she could imagine being taken into those arms, it had given her senses enough that she could imagine a kiss also. That was how dangerous Lord Rothley could be, so dangerous a decent woman could dream of his kisses upon her lips, his arms about her.
She turned a page for the first time in a quarter hour. Susan yawned, and let the cards spill from her hand.
‘Are you going to set a guard at my chamber door, cousin?’
‘Of course not. You are not a prisoner, whatever you may think.’
‘And my thoughts may not be bound.’
‘You ought not to perceive me as your enemy, Susan, I am simply charged with keeping you from so great a faux pas that you will thereafter be excluded from the Ton. I did not seek the role, nor do I relish it, but that is my duty and I will fulfil it. Now, shall we retire?’
Susan, bored, and with the germ of an idea in her head, nodded.
Lord Rothley found himself in an awkward position, as he had explained to Sir Esmond Fawley, and, with a valid reason to return to his estates to view the completion of renovations to the stable blocks, withdrew from Polite Society for a week to work out how he might logically solve the insoluble. If Sophy Hadlow did not know of his relationship to Susan Tyneham it would be dishonourable to reveal it, with all its ramifications. If she believed him to be some rakish fellow setting out to lure her into falling in love with him, he could not tell her that he did not follow in his father’s footsteps. Following their last meeting, he was inclined to think that Lady Sophy would avoid him where possible, and hold him very much at arm’s length when this proved impossible. This would also preclude his relieving her of at least some of the burden of the wilful Susan. However he looked at it, his chances of winning her hand seemed remote. His staff wondered why their normally cheerful master seemed preoccupied, and if his valet had an idea that it might be an affair of the heart, he said nothing.
The estate had come to Lord Rothley upon the death of his grandfather, who had stated quite openly that though the title would go to his reprobate son, he had no intention of the ‘ancestral home of the Marstons being sold off to pay foreign whores, and an assortment of tradesmen’. Thus, the responsibilities and income of an earldom rested with the young Viscount Rothley, whilst his father, the ignoble earl, managed upon a begrudged inherited allowance. It had seemed strange at first, but after six years, Rothley disregarded the unusual situation, and at thirty-one no longer felt callow and out of his depth. His retainers were happy, without fear of finding themselves turned off in times of straitened circumstances, or having the hallowed corridors the haunt of scantily dressed Paphians. This would not have appealed to the very conservative rural Worcestershire worthies who had served the family man and boy, or girl and woman, for generations.
While Lord Rothley’s mind was working in honourable circles, Lord Pinkney’s was aiming straight but with every possible dishonourable intent.
Lord Pinkney had no knowledge of what had gone on at the Chelmarsh ball, but he too was a man with plans, plans which centred upon Miss Susan Tyneham. However, since Lord Rothley had declared himself Miss Tyneham’s covert guard dog, it would be as well to ensure that this particular canine’s teeth were drawn before he made further overtures. Rothley, inexplicably, was interested in the tall and rather severe Lady Sophronia, and if he had her ear, and at this point Pinkney smiled in a lascivious manner, at least her ear, he might make things very difficult for him. Pinkney was under no illusion. Lady Sophronia thought him a spendthrift fortune-hunter. This accurate appraisal did at least prove she was not without wits. It would be advantageous if he could make Rothley appear in as bad a light. What was difficult was getting into a position where he might drip his poison in her ear, and also be believed. She had a tendency to give him a basilisk stare and turn away. Mighty high in the instep was the Lady Sophronia Hadlow. Well, she would not feel so high and mighty when he was related to her. He could add discommoding her to the pleasure of upsetting the insufferable Tyneham.
It proved even more difficult than he had anticipated, because he did not have unlimited access to the houses of Polite Society. Some were inclined to omit him from their guest lists altogether, and many only included him when they held their largest parties. In the general run of things, this did not concern him, but financial matters were pressing, and the tables were consistently against him when he attempted a recovery by means of rattling dice. He needed Miss Tyneham’s dowry in the very near future, and could not obtain it without contact with the young lady herself. The news of Rothley’s removal to the shires was useful, but until he espied the tall form of Lady Sophronia at the Duchess of Rutland’s ball several days later, he was powerless to play his advantage.
Had Sophy not been engaged in conversation with Lady Hornsea, she would have noticed his approach, but it was too late when he made his bow and smiled ingratiatingly at the voluble countess.
‘Lady Hornsea, what a pleasant surprise.’
