Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12 - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 28

Lord Bingfield’s words circled through her brain. A proposal! What sort of proposal did Lord Bingfield have in mind? Sophie’s reticule slipped from her grasp and she made a last-second lunge to rescue it before it tumbled to the ground. At the same instant, Lord Bingfield reached down and caught it. Their fingers touched and a faint tremor went through her. He gave a slight nod and she remembered his earlier words—whatever happens, follow my lead.

She stood up and clutched the reticule to her chest. She had little choice. It was either go along with Lord Bingfield’s scheme or face certain ruin at Sir Vincent’s hands. She had to go against her hard-learnt habit and trust an acknowledged rake. All she had to do was ensure she refrained from making any rash promises to him. Easy if she maintained her poise and dignity.

‘A proposal? Do tell, Nephew.’ His formidable aunt rapped her fan against her hand. ‘I am all ears.’

‘It was the sort of proposal that I have longed to hear ever since I first encountered your nephew,’ Sophie said in a loud voice. ‘You do not know how happy it made me to hear his words. Perhaps it was a little rushed, but the location was so romantic. My heart simply soared.’

She glanced over at Lord Bingfield and saw that his eyes were dancing. They were as one on this plan. Her heart thudded.

‘Are you going to give him your answer?’

‘I think such a proposal merits careful consideration. Often a young woman has been led into folly by making too hasty a judgement one way or the other,’ Sophie retorted. A sense of thrilling excitement swept through her. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was living rather than merely existing, trying to be good and attempting to maintain a poised cold dignity in all her dealings with men. The realisation shocked her.

‘I am grateful that you are giving my proposal any consideration in light of my past,’ Lord Bingfield said.

Sophie tilted her chin upwards. ‘I have learnt that one’s past is never a guarantee of one’s future.’

‘You appear to be a highly sensible young lady, Miss Ravel, despite being out in the garden alone with my nephew,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced. ‘A word to the wise—even if you are overcome with heat, it is always best to keep your chaperon in sight. To do otherwise is to invoke comment. However, on this happy occasion I must forgive the tiniest lapse of judgement.’

Relief swept through Sophie. Lady Parthenope was practically purring her approval. Her reputation might survive.

‘I know your nephew has honourable intentions, your ladyship,’ Sophie said firmly, fixing Lord Bingfield with her eye.

‘I was unaware you were acquainted with my nephew. That is all, Miss Ravel. I must do more to further our acquaintance,’ Lady Parthenope said.

‘Come, come, Aunt.’ Lord Bingfield put his hand on his aunt’s sleeve. ‘Do I need to send you a note every time I meet a suitable unmarried lady? Every time I wish to make a proposal of a sensitive nature to said lady? If that is to be the way of the world, I want no part of it.’

‘It would be helpful, Richard.’ The elderly woman gave a sniff. ‘Your father was very tedious at our luncheon.’

‘Nor was I aware that you shared a close friendship with Lord Bingfield, Miss Ravel,’ Sir Vincent said. ‘The things one learns at balls. It puts our earlier conversation in a very different light. I do hope you remember every word of our previous encounter.’

A faint prickle of alarm ran down Sophie’s back, but she forced her lungs to fill with air. Sir Vincent’s threat was hollow. She was safe. Lady Parthenope had pronounced judgement. Despite the slight hiccup of Lord Bingfield being notorious, he had behaved impeccably.

‘Where did you think I was going to, Sir Vincent, after I delivered Miss Johnson’s note? I do hate being late.’ She made a curtsy which bordered on the discourteous. ‘I did say that I had a prior engagement. I failed to mention Lord Bingfield before because, quite frankly, it is none of your business.’

Sir Vincent’s mouth opened and closed several times.

Lady Parthenope suddenly developed a cough and Sophie struggled not to laugh after she caught Lord Bingfield’s eye. Her heart suddenly seemed much lighter. Tonight’s events were not going to be a catastrophe after all.

After tonight, she would not push her luck. She had to remember that adventures only became exciting in memory. During an adventure, one was often out of sorts and uncomfortable. Adventure should happen to other people, not to her if she wished to keep her reputation. Ice-cold calm and dignity while she waited to meet the man whom she could love. Friends first, but only after he’d proved himself worthy—it was the only way to have a great and lasting romance. She had seen the formula work with Robert and Henrietta and now Cynthia.

‘Sir Vincent may escort me in,’ Lady Parthenope said after she recovered from her coughing fit. ‘His mother and I were at school together. And, dear Miss Ravel, you may take your time as long as you come to the right decision quickly. It is blindingly obvious to me that nothing untoward happened here. You must not presume the worst, Sir Vincent. There again, your mother possessed that unfortunate habit. It obviously runs in the family.’

Lady Parthenope swept towards the house with a bleating Sir Vincent on her arm and the rest of her party trailing in her wake. Sophie waited until the noise had abated, feeling the cool night air on her face. She had survived.

Lord Bingfield held out his arm. ‘Shall we go, Miss Ravel? I take it you have had time to consider my proposal. My nerves shall be a-quiver until I hear your answer.’

‘I doubt your nerves ever quiver, Lord Bingfield.’

‘You wrong me.’ He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I may be the type to weep at dead daffodils.’

‘Are you?’

He stood up straighter. ‘Thankfully, no. I can’t remember the last time I wept at anything. Shall we go in before we invoke more comment?’

Sophie placed her hand on his arm. Her body became instantly aware of him and his nearness. His proximity to her was doing strange things to her insides and her sensibilities. Had she learnt nothing in the past four years? Rakes oozed charm and women forgot propriety when they were near them. The best defence was to be calmly aloof.

A tiny prickle coursed down her spine. Even when she had considered an elopement in her youth, she had not felt as though she wanted Sebastian Cawburn to kiss her, not in the desperate deep-down way that she wanted Lord Bingfield to kiss her when they had stood so close earlier.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said, trying for the poised voice she’d perfected after the Sebastian débâcle. Failed miserably as it came out too breathless for her liking. ‘Your idea of an unnamed proposal was particularly inspired. I hope … It doesn’t matter what I thought. It is finished now and my reputation is safe. From what Sir Vincent said earlier, I believe Cynthia will be safely married soon to the man she has chosen. It is important to choose a congenial life’s partner rather than have one chosen for you.’

‘I agree entirely,’ he said, helping her around a muddy puddle. ‘A close call, but I feel it was easily accomplished in the end. There should be no repercussions. Who would dare gainsay Lady Parthenope’s pronouncement of innocence?’

‘Will your aunt be cross when she discovers we have no intention of marrying each other?’ Sophie asked in an undertone. Her body was immediately aware of the way his gloved hand curled about hers. He frowned and let go of her hand.

‘She will get over it. Being a disappointment to my aunt appeals. Someone has to be and my cousins have thus far all proved to be sterling examples of moral rectitude and sobriety.’

Sophie forced a smile, but her heart gave a little pang. Lord Bingfield was by far the most interesting man she had met in years and the most unsuitable. A poised demeanour had to be her armour. Never again would she return to that frightened girl, cowering behind a door. ‘You were truly a shining knight.’

‘I’ve no love for Putney and a soft spot for beautiful ladies in distress. It was no trouble. Think no more about it.’

They reached the doorway to the house and in the sudden light, she saw Lord Bingfield clearly for the first time. His dark-brown hair curled slightly at his temples, framing his burnished gold eyes. His mouth was a bit large, but hinted at passion. It was the sort of face to make a woman go weak at the knees and forget her solemn vows.

Sophie fought against an inclination to prolong the encounter. There was no future for her and Lord Bingfield. She had given up on notorious men years ago. The adventure had finished and she and her reputation were safe.

She stopped beside the ladies’ withdrawing room. ‘The adventure has ended.’

‘Should you ever require a knight again, fair lady, let me know.’ He raised her hand to his lips.

The light touch sent a throb of warmth coursing through her. It would be easy to believe in romance, rather than chemistry. Against her better judgement, she wanted to believe he could be a shining knight and protect her from harm, rather than destroy her utterly.

‘You see, I did accept your proposal of protection from Sir Vincent. It was a truly honourable proposal.’

‘My pleasure and you understood the proposal.’ He gave a half-smile and inclined his head. ‘You do know I have no intention of marrying despite what my aunt might believe or my father might dictate.’

‘And you do know I have no intention of behaving badly,’ Sophie said, clutching her reticule close to her chest. Her earlier instincts had been correct. Lord Bingfield was the sort of man who was not safe in carriages. He had saved her reputation, but she knew how that particular game was played. Some day she hoped she’d meet someone who would make her heart soar and fulfilled all the criteria she had agreed with Henri on that fateful day. A friend before a lover. Someone of honour and whom she could love with the right pedigree for her stepmother. Other people had found love—why shouldn’t she?

A small dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Have I asked you to?’

‘No, but I suspect you entertain hopes. It falls to me to quash them.’ She pinned him with her best I-am-a-formidable-person look. ‘It is always best to be perfectly clear about such things.’

He threw back his head and laughed a deep rich laugh, utterly real and inviting rather than the arched one he’d used as he confronted Sir Vincent earlier. It warmed her all the way to her toes. Sophie started, surprised that the sound could affect her in that way. ‘The day I lose hope is the day I die.’

She concentrated on the flickering light of the chandelier in the entrance hallway, rather than the dimple in the corner of his mouth. She had to keep her wits about her and not indulge in some flight of romantic fantasy. He had given her an explicit warning about his intention to avoid marriage.

Naïve women chose to ignore such words of warning, believing that they were special or unique. It was what a rake traded on. Soon without meaning to, the woman had crossed all manner of bridges and boundaries. That was when a rake struck, showing his true colours. Sophie had learnt this lesson the hard way. A rake meant what he said all the times, and most definitely when it was said in a light-hearted or jesting fashion. And when things didn’t go as they wished …

‘We are at an impasse,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘For my determination is every bit as strong as your hope.’

‘Shall we risk a polka? Surely you can spare a dance for me?’ He held out his hands and his smile became even more beguiling. ‘I did save your reputation and I never ask a second time.’

Sophie swiftly shook her head, banishing the image of them swirling to the music together. It would be very easy to give in to the temptation and dance in his arms. And from there? Each little step would lead her further down a path she’d sworn never to go on again.

‘Here we part. I shall bid you goodbye. We part as friends.’ She held out her hand and allowed a frosty smile past her lips.

He ignored her hand. ‘Until we meet again, Miss Ravel.’

He paused and his gaze travelled slowly down her, making Sophie aware of the way her hair tumbled about her shoulders and her torn dress. Perhaps not quite the ice-maiden look she had hoped to achieve. He gave a long slow smile. ‘As we are no longer strangers.’

‘How could you do it, Richard? You are insupportable. I declare you get that from your father!’

Richard shaded his eyes with his hand. His head throbbed slightly and he reluctantly bid the dream of Sophie Ravel, naked in his arms, goodbye.

After he’d left last night’s ball, he’d spent time at the Northern Counties Club, playing cards and trying not to think about Miss Ravel and ways to meet her rather than returning to the house he rented for his mother and half-sister.

As his aunt had pointed out yesterday and the gossip in club confirmed, Sophie Ravel was a highly eligible heiress, rather than a young widow in need of money or the neglected wife of an aged and jaded aristocrat in search of an afternoon’s amusement. But he also knew the gossip was wrong on one important point. Miss Ravel had the reputation of a fearsome ice maiden—beautiful to look at, but brimming with virtue and utterly lacking in passion. The woman he’d nearly kissed last night had simmered with passion under her frosty exterior.

Only if he wanted to stick his head in the parson’s noose should he be having anything to do with her. Several of his dalliances had reached the scandal sheets in recent years—more for the women’s indiscretions after they parted than his actions, but it was enough to make him wary. He refused to be the instrument of any woman’s ruin.

The certain knowledge of his past notoriety had caused him to drink more than was good for him last night. How his father would laugh. He’d always predicted that his son would one day regret being in the gossip columnists’ sights and the day of reckoning had arrived.

He winced. He might not have deserved the scandal sheet’s attention when he was at Eton, but he’d certainly deserved it a few years ago when he’d attempted to forget his part in Mary’s fall from grace, her forced marriage to a man she loathed and her untimely death. Then, after that, he’d run through a number of bored wives and widows, ending each affair on his terms and walking away without a backward glance. And he did make it a point of honour never to ask a woman twice for something.

It was only a chance encounter with his half-sister eighteen months ago which had led him from the path of self-destruction.

‘Richard, are you going to speak to me? I know you are awake.’ A tall woman stood silhouetted in the doorway. His man lurked behind her.

Richard shook his head. Myers had always been a soft touch where women were concerned. He focused on his mother instead of his valet. The sooner this contretemps in a teacup was sorted, the sooner he would get back to his dream.

‘Mother, what are you doing waking me up so early?’ Richard sat up and stretched. He glanced at the small ormolu clock on the bedside table. ‘I thought you would find this time of day exceedingly early for civilised people.’

He waited for her to make her excuses and withdraw.

‘I left you to sleep for as long as I dared,’ his mother said, straightening her cap. ‘Luckily your sister remains in ignorance of last night’s events. I only pray we can keep it that way. Her head cold last night turned out to be a blessing in disguise after all. I dread to think what would have happened if Hannah had been at the ball.’

Richard’s heart sank. His mother had obviously heard the wrong sort of gossip. Silently he bid goodbye to a morning’s rest. He would have to sort out whichever mess.

‘What promise have I broken?’ Richard retained a leash on his temper. His mother enjoyed her dramatics. ‘At least do me the courtesy of hearing the full accusation.’

‘You obviously haven’t seen the morning papers. It is in all of the local ones. It is sure to be in the London ones by nightfall. Your father will know you are here! He is far from stupid and he will know your reason for coming to Newcastle.’

‘I’m a grown man, Mother. My father doesn’t dictate or control my movements. There are numerous reasons why I might have travelled to Newcastle, none of which involved yourself or Hannah.’

‘He will ruin any chance of Hannah’s happiness out of sheer spite. You know what he is like when he is in one of his rages. How could you involve yourself in scandal at this juncture?’

Richard pressed his palms against his eyes. He did know what his father was capable of and how, each time, the fits of anger appeared to last longer. Most of all he feared the gentle father he loved would remain a raging mad man, incapable of coherent thought. The doctors told him that there was nothing they could do except lock him up, and Richard was not prepared for that to happen.

‘Mother, as I went to bed in the not-so-early hours of the morning, I have not seen the papers. Whatever you are seeking to blame me for, I am innocent.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pinch me. See, I am here in my bed, alone.’

‘At least tell me that the woman in question is an heiress, this redoubtable woman of yours. Your father might understand your need to chase her up here if she was eligible. Your being single must be a worry. I know how relieved he was when I produced you as the heir. All your father has ever cared about was having the line continue and those blasted pigs of his.’

He pressed his lips together, considering the first part of his mother’s statement. He could explain away Newcastle on chasing an heiress. His father would accept that, rather than going into some apoplectic rage over the fact that his son had regular contact with the one woman he hated more than life itself. His father’s mental state and health were far too fragile to risk that. He loved both parents and refused to bow to his father’s insistence that he choose a side. Once his father’s health improved, he would explain properly. For now, a small amount of subterfuge had to be used. Two parts of his life kept separate.

‘What do the papers have to do with it?’ he asked.

‘Myers, the Newcastle Courant for your master, if you please.’

Richard nodded to his valet, who gave a bow.

His manservant brought the Newcastle Courant as well as one of the more popular scandal sheets, freshly ironed. He turned to the gossip page of the scandal sheet and pointed. Richard gave him a curious look.

‘It has the best wording, my lord. The Courant used a bit more veiled language. I thought it best to take the precaution of examining all the papers. I like to be prepared for all mention of my gentlemen.’

Richard scanned the paper and winced. Has the scandal-prone Lord B—been captured at last by the redoubtable Miss R—? Turtledoves were cooing last night. A wedding is devotedly hoped for but, given Lord B—’s form, not expected.

Scandal-prone indeed! The last crim. con. trial had not been his fault at all. His name should never have been mentioned. The Duke of Blanchland admitted that later. He’d been the innocent party, attempting to assist a woman, driven to distraction by her errant husband. The Duchess had never been his mistress. He had already bedded her sister. He had his code.

He folded the offending paper in half and glared at his mother.

‘Preposterous nonsense, Mother. You shouldn’t believe things that you read in the papers. Surely you learnt that long ago!’

His mother slapped her gloves together. ‘I won’t have it, Richard. Not when Hannah is about to be married. They will drag up the whole contretemps between your father and myself … and the issue of Hannah’s parentage. And if your father comes up here, there is no telling what he’d do. He swore revenge. I won’t have my innocent child suffer!’

‘And this has nothing to do with Hannah. In any case, your late husband adopted his daughter. It was all sorted in the end. My father did behave well on that.’

‘He never paid back my dowry and he ensured I had to lead a life of economies.’

‘It was your father who negotiated the settlement. The money was spent in part on refurbishments that you ordered.’

‘Do you know this redoubtable Miss R?’ His mother slapped her hand down on the paper. ‘For the life of me I can’t think of any acquaintances with the last name of R who would warrant the sobriquet of “redoubtable”. There is Petronella Roberts, but she has spots, and Sarah Richards fills out her ball dress in all the wrong places.’

‘Sophie Ravel—yes, I know her. I would have used the word ravishing rather than redoubtable.’ Richard put his hands behind his head and conjured up Miss Ravel’s delicate features. Her generous mouth had held the promise of passion, if a man could find a way to unlock it. ‘Even Aunt Parthenope declared there was nothing scandalous in our behaviour.’

His mother went white. ‘Parthenope was there?’

‘My aunt attended the ball last night. Apparently my grandmother is buried in Jesmond. She visits the grave every year.’ He glared at his mother. ‘You never said.’

‘She is sure to write to your father, giving a report. Even if he misses the papers, he will know you have been in Newcastle. Parthenope is like that—full of spite disguised as doing good. When she is at her most charming, she is also at her most deadly.’

‘You overreact, Mother.’

‘Richard, this is important. It is your sister’s future. Hannah has an excellent chance to have a glittering marriage. Could you use this Miss Ravel as an excuse to stay, rather than dashing off to London this afternoon?’

Richard tapped his finger against the scandal sheet, the beginnings of an idea forming. Pursuing Miss Ravel without interference from either parent and seeing if there was passion underneath the ice she presented to the world was tempting, but…

Richard folded the paper in half again. ‘What puzzles me is how quickly the papers have acquired the story.’

‘Someone is always willing to sell a good story.’ His mother gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Poor girl. It is the women I feel sorry for. The men can survive, but a woman, well, she always has the whiff of a scandal hanging about her skirts.’

‘I will sort it out before it becomes an inferno, Mother.’

‘I trust you to do the right thing, Richard.’

‘I am surprised you even need to say that, Mother. I know my duty. The necessity of doing it has been beaten into me since childhood.’

‘Did you have a pleasant time at the ball, Sophie? You said very little about it last night. You were back far earlier than I expected.’

Sophie’s hand froze in the act of buttering her toast. It made no sense for her stepmother to be asking further questions about last night. She’d given an account when she came, an account in which Lord Bingfield did not feature as there was no point in alarming her. Her stepmother seemed well satisfied then, but now she regarded Sophie with razor-sharp eyes. Her stepmother waved a newspaper in Sophie’s direction. ‘I do read the papers. Every item.’

‘The papers? Why should they say anything about me?’ Sophie asked, genuinely perplexed. Lady Parthenope had declared that the little incident was entirely innocent. She’d left it to Lord Bingfield to explain to his aunt that they would … alas … not be marrying.

‘It is what I want to know.’ Tears shimmered in her stepmother’s eyes. ‘I trusted you, Sophie, last evening and allowed you to go to the ball without a chaperon. When you were younger, you used to be involved in harum-scarum affairs and I despaired. After Corbridge, you changed. Perhaps you became a bit too stand-offish, but I retained hopes of you fulfilling your father’s dying wish and marrying into society.’

Sophie attempted to ignore the nasty prickle at the back of her neck. ‘Do what? What have I done? I behaved perfectly properly all evening. You knew about Cynthia’s elopement and approved.’ Sophie carefully kept her mind away from how she’d nearly kissed Lord Bingfield in the dark. Wanting to kiss him and actually kissing him were two separate things. She had behaved properly and they would never encounter each other again. ‘Show me the papers. I need to know what I have been accused of.’

Her stepmother held out one of the worst scandal sheets. Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘The redoubtable Miss R? Do I look redoubtable to you? I am the least formidable person I know. Really, Stepmother, I’m surprised you read such things! All they print are lies and tittle-tattle.’

‘How else can I find out what is going on in Newcastle, let alone in the rest of the country?’ Her stepmother dabbed her eyes. ‘Who is this Lord B who has captured your attention? Were you too ashamed of me to introduce us? I know I used to be in service, but that was long ago before your father fell in love with me.’

‘Ashamed of you?’ Sophie stared at her stepmother in astonishment. ‘I love you and whomever I marry had best love you as well or he will not be the man for me. Now that we have cleared that up, I want to know about your plans for your new bonnet.’

‘Sophie, stop confusing the issue with bonnets. The item in the papers. I shall not be deterred.’

‘You know it is a pack of lies, don’t you?’ She put her hand over her stepmother’s. ‘As if I would consider marrying without consulting you first. Honestly, Stepmother, sometimes you read too many penny-dreadfuls. When have I ever kept any of my friends from you? And I would never marry anyone who was not a friend first. I learnt a painful lesson three years ago.’

‘But there is a kernel of truth.’ Her stepmother’s cap trembled. ‘I know how to read your face, Sophie. You can never hide things from me, not things which truly matter. Who is this Lord B? Would Robert and Henri approve?’

‘Lord Bingfield,’ Sophie supplied. Her stepmother conveniently forgot the times when Sophie had kept things from her, including the precise truth about Sebastian. ‘He assisted me after Cynthia’s elopement. I doubt the entire proceedings would have gone as smoothly if not for his assistance. I was introduced to his aunt, Lady Parthenope, who is great friends with three of the Lady Patronesses at Almack’s. However, that is as far as it went. Someone has an overblown imagination and is making mischief.’

Sophie waited for her stepmother to ask about Lady Parthenope’s dress or what she had said.

‘Almack’s is far from the power it used to be and I won’t be distracted.’ Her stepmother frowned and Sophie’s heart sank. Her stepmother was worse than a dog with a bone about this snippet of gossip. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Lord Bingfield immediately?’

‘Because you would have jumped to the wrong conclusion like you are doing now, and I was tired.’ Sophie crumpled the toast between her fingers. The last thing she needed after her broken sleep was to be quizzed about Lord Bingfield. Every time she closed her eyes last night it seemed she remembered how his breath had fanned her cheek or how he had nearly kissed her. The encounter was nothing to him, but she couldn’t forget it. About three o’clock, she had decided that she’d been foolish and arrogant to reject his offer of an innocent dance. She should have danced with him and been done with it. She never dreamt about any of the men she danced with. The knowledge did not make her any happier.

‘You were thinking about me and my health.’ The ribbons of her stepmother’s cap swayed their indignation. ‘Sophie! Do you think I was born yesterday?’

‘Given how you are reacting now, is it any wonder? You are seeking a romance where there is none.’ Sophie was unsure who she was trying to convince—her stepmother or that little place inside her which kept whispering about Lord Bingfield’s fine eyes. ‘Besides, I doubt Lord Bingfield’s ultimate intentions towards me were honourable. He inhabits the scandal sheets, after all. Remember The Incident and why I had to hurry up to Corbridge? I’ve sworn off men like that.’

Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You had better hope it is a proper proposal from Lord Bingfield. People have long memories, Sophie. Your name will now be tainted from the mere association with his. Did you think about that last night when you were so busy accepting his trifling assistance? You know what your father wanted for you—a marriage into the higher echelons of society—and you have jeopardised that.’

‘You are talking fustian nonsense.’ Sophie tapped her finger on the scandal sheet. ‘How many papers?’

‘I have sent the butler to check. I should think most of them. Lady Parthenope sent me a note. She has invited us to take tea with her.’ Her stepmother’s hand trembled with excitement as she reached for the letter. ‘She wants to vet us. That’s what this is. You know what they say about her door-keeping at Almack’s. I shall need a new bonnet!’

Sophie bit her lip. ‘You can always refuse.’

‘One does not refuse Lady Parthenope, Sophie, and stay within the bounds of polite society.’ Her stepmother folded her hands in her lap and gave a smug smile. ‘I’ve been after an invitation for years. You will pass muster without a problem. My stepdaughter will become a member of the aristocracy, even if she will forget me.’

‘Stop spinning fantasies and nothing is finalised.’ Sophie slumped back against the chair. She would have to tell her stepmother the full unedifying story. It was the only option. ‘But there are, and will be, no impending nuptials to Lord Bingfield. I’m quite decided on that point. It happened—’

‘There is a gentleman to see you, Miss Ravel.’ The footman came in, carrying a silver platter with a single card, interrupting Sophie’s story.

With a trembling hand, Sophie picked it up. Richard Crawford, Viscount Bingfield.

She stood up and absurdly wished that she was dressed in something more up to the minute than her old blue gown. She ruthlessly quashed the notion. Lord Bingfield and last night’s escapade needed to be consigned to the past. The papers this morning proved it. Scandal dogged his footsteps.

‘I will see Lord Bingfield in the drawing room.’

‘I shall come with you, my dear.’ Her stepmother started to rise, but Sophie put a hand on her stepmother’s shoulder.

‘That is far from necessary, Stepmother. If I need assistance, I will shout. I have access to a poker and am not afraid to use it.’

‘Sophie!’

‘The truth, Stepmother.’ Sophie narrowed her eyes. ‘Allow me to do this or I shall write to Lady Parthenope, explaining that I have rejected her nephew’s suit and therefore neither of us will be able to take tea with her.’

Her stepmother covered her eyes. ‘I shudder to think what Robert—or Henri, for that matter—would say, but very well, my dear, you may see him on your own. On pain of death, do not close that door and I will be in earshot. Your father wanted the best for you and I am determined you shall have it, even if I have to beg Lady Parthenope on bended knee for a voucher to Almack’s.’

‘My father would expect me to sort out this mess. Despite what you or Henri or Robert might think, I am perfectly capable of sorting this tempest in a teacup out. I am an adult and, according to the papers, redoubtable.’ Sophie raised her chin. ‘I will simply tell him no.’