Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12 - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 32

The last place Sophie wanted to be was at her stepmother’s At Home. Crowded At Homes generally made her feel as though she was some exotic beast on show for the masses and this week was worse than usual.

She had lost track of the number of people who just happened to call, most with congratulations about the engagement. And those who had not bothered to read today’s editions were soon apprised of the fact by others in the room. As she had predicted, ‘The Redoubtable captures the Rake’ was the lead item.

Everyone wanted to meet the prospective bridegroom and hear the thrilling tale of a whirlwind romance which had turned into the engagement of the Season, if not the year!

Richard had been right. Their engagement was now an established fact. She couldn’t cancel it without seeming flighty or, worse still, a liar. She was well and truly trapped in a scheme of her own making. Worse, he had not put in an appearance.

She found herself watching the door and the clock, but the minutes were slipping by. The At Home would end without an appearance from him.

She wanted to run and hide and not face the humiliation of his non-show, but she felt guilty for even thinking of the idea. A Ravel always met her social obligations. The fact had been drilled into her at a young age when she’d hidden behind a curtain rather than meet one of her father’s business associates. So she smiled and asked after various children and elderly relatives and hoped no one else noticed that Richard wasn’t there and she had declined to give a time or date for the engagement party which her stepmother loudly proclaimed would be happening soon.

Sophie forcibly turned her gaze from the front door, tilted her head and graciously enquired after a neighbour’s son who was cutting his first tooth. If she concentrated on other people, then maybe she’d forget the deepening hole inside and all the doubts and what ifs.

‘Lady Parthenope will be arriving momentarily,’ her stepmother’s latest butler declared in an overly theatrical fashion. ‘Her carriage has been spotted.’

Her stepmother went red with pleasure. Sophie excused herself and hurried over to her stepmother, putting her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. ‘Is there some reason that Lady Parthenope has come to call? I wasn’t aware you are intimates.’

‘I sent her a note, dear, after you refused to allow me to go to her tea,’ her stepmother explained with the sort of smile which could light up a thousand ballrooms. ‘It seemed the right thing to do. She is dear Bingfield’s only female relation in the neighbourhood. I wanted her advice on the engagement party. I do hope she gives me a moment to compose myself before she finally appears. I declared I’m all at sixes and sevens. It is worse than waiting for the Queen.’

‘Her advice on the engagement party?’ Sophie put her hand on her stepmother’s sleeve. Composing herself for Lady Parthenope would have to wait. She needed to know precisely the full horror of what her stepmother had done.

‘It needs to be an event of glittering magnitude. There again, perhaps the aristocracy do things differently. I do want to be guided, my dear, and Henri is away in Europe. People have expectations.’

‘You have written to Henri!’ Sophie’s heart sank. She had hoped to present the entire episode as an amusing anecdote when Henri and Robert returned with their two young children, but her stepmother had closed that door.

‘I thought she’d want to know.’ Mrs Ravel peered around her and motioned to the footman to move several tables and chairs. ‘I do think it bad of Lord Bingfield not to call. I had wanted a chance to quiz him about it as well. After all, it will be his engagement party, too.’

‘You sent Lord Bingfield a note about the party?’ The complete horror of what her stepmother had done penetrated Sophie’s brain. Any engagement party would make things worse. They would have to be there as a couple in love. She might even start depending on him to be there. But she had no idea of how to stop it. Her stepmother’s juggernaut would flatten everything in its path.

‘First thing this morning while you were showing your new maid your clothes. Is there any reason I shouldn’t? Sophie, have you entirely forgotten your manners?’ Her stepmother waved a hand. ‘And invitations have been arriving all morning along with an unsigned postcard from Liverpool. You and Lord Bingfield will be much in demand, I am happy to say, but where is he? It is most vexing.’

‘Lord Bingfield will call when he has the time.’ Sophie concentrated on the teacup. Cynthia arriving in Liverpool was the best news she had had all day. She had to remember that Cynthia’s love was true. She and her intended had known each other for months before they eloped. Sophie knew she had to hang on to the thought, rather than dreaming about Richard and his goodnight kiss. Desire did not make a love match. Desire did not mean she actually liked him. It didn’t mean she disliked him, either, a little voice whispered.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘How many others did you happen to ask for advice about this engagement party?’

Her stepmother counted on her fingers. ‘Fourteen, maybe seventeen. It depends on who you count. Miss Smith and her sister were visiting Mrs Butterworth when I happened to mention the engagement yesterday. They were the ones who suggested a party. It is not as if I am spreading lies, Sophie. You are going to marry Viscount Bingfield and will eventually be a marchioness.’

‘An engagement has been agreed,’ Sophie corrected. ‘There is a difference. You know how many engagements were broken last year.’

‘Hornswoggle. Last night anyone with half an eye could see how entranced you were with each other when you waltzed. And then your declaration after Lord Bingfield punched that dreadful toad Sir Vincent Putney. It made my heart thrill. Romance truly does live. Your father would be fit to burst.’

‘You shouldn’t have done it, Stepmother, without consulting me.’

‘Mrs Butterworth was overly proud last year when her eldest daughter married a baronet. You being married to a viscount will be just the sort of setdown she needs. You will take precedence. My stepdaughter, one of the higher-ranking peers, just as your father always dreamt.’

‘But I would have preferred to have been consulted about this party first. You have no idea whether Lord Bingfield wants a party or not.’

‘It is why I want to speak to him.’ Her stepmother patted Sophie’s hand. ‘People always speculate. In any case, most of the people here I didn’t mention the party to, but everyone is asking about it.’

‘I wonder why that is.’

‘It will have to be a glittering affair. Your father did love a good party. Imagine if Lord Hallington attended. A living marquess in this house!’

‘We haven’t agreed on the settlement yet.’ Sophie lifted her cup to her lips. This entire affair seemed to have taken a life of its own. She had to begin to sow seeds of doubt or her stepmother would take to her bed for weeks when Richard and she broke it off. And what better place with all these people attending the At Home? Sophie raised her voice slightly. ‘I shouldn’t have even shown my ring last night. It was wrong of me. Premature. My father would be appalled at my lack of prudence. Perhaps Robert Montemorcy, my former guardian, should be consulted before this goes further.’

Sophie glanced about the room which was now filled with an expectant hush, awaiting Lady Parthenope’s arrival. Seed sown, her job was done.

Her stepmother gave a little frown. ‘I suppose you are right. I will put the party off until later in the year.’

‘Once it has been announced officially, then we can plan the party, properly with Henri. You know what an expert she is with such things.’ Sophie nodded towards the door. ‘You must go greet Lady Parthenope. It would not do to keep her ladyship waiting.’

Her stepmother’s ribbons trembled. ‘What shall I say to her?’

‘Hello?’ Sophie offered with a faint laugh, but her stepmother’s agitation only increased.

Lady Parthenope swept into the room and nearly knocked over a table of china pugs as the entire room fell silent and teacups were poised halfway to the lips. Sophie watched fascinated as her stepmother warred with two emotions—the desire to protect her china collection and the pride that so illustrious a personage should visit her house. In the end, pride won out. She hurriedly waved towards the china-dog table, which the butler moved without saying a word, and the background of a busy At Home recommenced.

‘I shan’t beat about the bush,’ Lady Parthenope said after she had greeted her stepmother. ‘Is it true you intend to give a party to celebrate your engagement to my nephew? I would have thought informing a family circle would be the first order of business before you announced to all and sundry, but what do I know about young people these days? The manners are all so different from when I was young after the war. Then things were done in a certain fashion or not at all.’

‘It is something you will need to consult with your nephew about—why he asked before getting your permission to marry,’ Sophie replied and was pleased the words came out far more assured than she felt inside. ‘I would hardly like to break a confidence. You must understand that, Lady Parthenope, and these matters, much as we hope otherwise, are often fraught with inner peril. My stepmother is perhaps over-eager with the plans for a party, but they are far from well advanced.’

‘Humph,’ Lady Parthenope said with a glacial frown. She turned and began to greet the other women, asking after various relations or mutual acquaintances.

Sophie noted with no small amount of admiration that the woman appeared to know how to greet everyone graciously. She had to wonder if Lady Parthenope had always been like this or if she had ever hidden behind a curtain. No, she decided, Lady Parthenope belonged to that special breed of woman who was always sure in any social situation.

‘I see you wasted no time, Aunt, in making your acquaintance with my intended’s family,’ Lord Bingfield said as he came into the room. His frock-coat was immaculate and he seemed to fill the drawing room. She noticed the way his hair curled about his temple and how the cut of his coat showed off his hips. Their eyes locked and a slow smile spread over his face.

Realising she was staring, Sophie hurriedly set down her teacup, managing to slosh the liquid on to her hand. Painfully obvious. The sudden heat jolted her back to reality. She winced, knowing her cheeks must be flushed. She was behaving worse than some débutante who was only a few weeks into her first Season. She was a veteran of four and knew better than to respond to men like Lord Bingfield. She had made so many mistakes in their short acquaintance.

‘Someone had to, dear boy. Your father is hardly likely to travel to the north. And the less said about your mother’s side of the family, the better, in my opinion,’ Lady Parthenope pronounced.

‘Finally you appear, Lord Bingfield. Sophie has been counting the minutes,’ her stepmother cooed, much to Sophie’s surprise and annoyance.

Her stepmother made it sound as though she had nothing better to do than to moon over him. Things were problematic enough with Lord Bingfield getting ideas about how she might feel about him. Her stepmother’s triumphant look did nothing to calm Sophie’s nerves.

‘My pleasure, Mrs Ravel.’ He bowed low over her stepmother’s hand. ‘I regret the slight delay, but what does that matter as I am here now? I am at your disposal, Mrs Ravel. Who would you like me to meet first? Your friends all appear charming and I don’t want to get the order of precedence wrong.’

His smile spread over the entire gathering. Her normally poised stepmother turned a shade of red, highly akin to beetroot, while a gaggle of her stepmother’s friends gave barely concealed sighs. His voice was the sort that warmed your toes, oozing superficial charm.

Sophie frowned and concentrated on the alabaster vase containing a bouquet of wax flowers. She’d be wrong to forget that it was superficial, pretty to look at but having no real substances, and the fact that this was all an act. She knew precisely what happened when the charm faded and the rake in question was turned down.

Her temple throbbed slightly. She refused to go back to that inn. She had ceased to be that carefree girl years ago. Real and honest love took months, if not years, to develop and he had been quite honest about not having finer feelings for her. She was not going to believe in the romance of it all. She had to be the practical one and search for other opportunities to sow seeds of doubt, so that when the end came, it would not cause her stepmother to take to her bed for weeks.

Richard accepted a cup of tea from her stepmother and came over to her. Her nerves pulsed with warmth. She found it impossible to forget the way his mouth had tasted when he’d kissed her last night.

She concentrated on the spill and tried to think of something else beside him and the way his shoulders filled out his frock-coat.

‘Do you need a handkerchief, Miss Ravel?’

His heady scent of balsam mixed with a subtle spice wafted over her, tickling her nose. And she inhaled deeply, savouring it, but then recollected where she was, sat up straighter and fixed him with her eye.

‘Everything is under control. I knocked the cup a little. I am fully capable of cleaning up my own messes.’

‘I would hate to think anything untoward happened to your delicate flesh.’ He came over and took her hand. His brow furrowed as his palm brushed her ring finger before releasing it. A subtle caress. ‘You are wearing the ring.’

Sophie fought against the temptation to flee. He knew precisely what he was doing. He had played this sort of double entendre game with countless other females. It would be wrong of her to think otherwise. ‘I felt it best. Everyone wanted to see it. Even if it is tempting fate to wear it.’

‘Fate?’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth, reminding her that her dreams had been full of that mouth and the way it tasted.

‘Nothing has been settled until certain agreements have been reached,’ she said decisively, banishing the thought.

He raised her hand to his lips. The tiniest touch, but enough to make her stomach flutter and the heat rise on her cheeks. She tried to tell herself that every woman had that sort of reaction to him, but it didn’t make it any easier.

‘It will be settled to our mutual benefit,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘You have my word on that. From now on wear it with pride and stop worrying.’

The room chose that moment to fall silent. Sophie winced and knew the colour in her cheeks flamed higher.

‘You see, Sophie,’ her stepmother crowed. ‘What did I say! Settlements can be easily achieved when a couple is in love.’

‘I apologise.’ Sophie gestured about the room. ‘It was quite unnecessary of you to call.’

‘We must disagree. It was completely necessary. I gave my word.’ He inclined his head. ‘If you would manipulate public opinion, Miss Ravel, the public do have to have something to talk about. It is far better that they discuss our engagement, rather than anything else about either of us.’

‘You make it sound like you are an expert.’

His eyes glinted like hard glass. ‘I had to learn. You were the one who increased the stakes.’

‘I will remember it for the next time and bow to your expertise.’

‘You may run along, then,’ he said, touching her sleeve. ‘I still have to greet a variety of other ladies, but my duties here must be short.’

‘And do what?’ Sophie put her hand on her hip. How dare he order her about! ‘The At Home is in its dying throes. I suspect once this lot have finished, we will not get any more callers. My stepmother has the tea and coffee under control.’

‘Grab your hat and cloak, of course. Unless you wish to have more gossip in the papers. I have a new pair of horses and a carriage up from Tattersalls. I want to put them through their paces in the northern air.’

‘Do you drive?’

‘I leave that to others but I do know the difference between a good carriage horse and an unsuitable one.’ A dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘Unless you are frightened to be seen with me?’

‘I welcome it.’

Richard stood in the hallway. He struggled to remember when he’d last enjoyed himself so much. Gently tweaking Sophie Ravel’s pretence of cold hauteur so that she was forced to reveal her inner passion was his new favourite sport. He wanted to explore her layers and find out more. He looked forward to it. He could not be sorry that circumstances forced them to spend time with each other.

‘Have you written to your father, Richard, informing him of your proposed alliance?’ his aunt said, coming into the hallway.

‘You are departing so soon, Aunt Parthenope?’

‘One stays precisely fifteen minutes. Always. I know the timing exactly. One should never be seen to regard a clock.’ His aunt sniffed. ‘You are leaving too soon.’

‘I will bear that in mind.’ Richard pointed towards the drawing room. ‘The crush was overly heavy. I’m waiting for Sophie.’

‘The girl is perfectly acceptable if one’s taste is for icy blondes, but the stepmother …’ His aunt lowered her voice. ‘Have you seen the décor? Your father would turn puce. Far too much china. Far too much chintz. Her manner is far too fine.’

‘Mrs Ravel is a perfectly charming lady. Sophie knows her own mind about decoration and fashion, just as she knows her own mind about me.’ Richard forced a smile over a tremor of horror. He did not want to think about his father travelling to Newcastle and the complications that it would bring.

His relationship with Sophie had nothing to do with his family. She belonged to another part of his life, separate and distinct from his duty towards his family.

He had taken the time to move into a well-appointed set of rooms on Granger Street this morning. Luckily, for once, his mother had agreed with his caution, although her reasoning differed from his.

‘My father will adore Sophie once he meets her. Does he have plans to travel here?’

‘Who knows what your father will do?’ His aunt made a disapproving noise. ‘He is a law unto himself, but I have every reason to think that he will not set foot in Newcastle. I, myself, have tried to persuade him for years to visit our mother’s grave, but he has always refused. His pigs must come before everything. I swear he uses them as an excuse to avoid doing his duty.’

‘My father is a man of steadfast devotion to his pigs.’

His aunt fixed him with a stare and he had to wonder if she had guessed his true reason for being up in Newcastle. ‘I shall have to write to your father about this fiancée of yours. You understand why it is necessary, I hope. The best that can be said for her stepmother is that she is no conversationalist.’

‘You do that. It will not change the outcome, Aunt.’ Richard nodded towards the stairs. ‘Here comes my intended, Aunt. I would hate to think you had caused her one moment of distress.’

His aunt put her hand over his. ‘Any wife of yours should be a credit to our family and its standing. You must not allow love to cloud your judgement.’

‘We are agreed on that. Love will never do that.’

Richard went towards Sophie, who looked absolutely fetching in her dark-blue leghorn bonnet and matching cloak, truly a breath of fresh air and peace in his turbulent life.

She did not have any side in his parents’ war. He’d learnt a long time ago that explaining about his family only made him feel uncomfortable and awkward rather than contributing anything meaningful. He saw no reason to break the habit with Sophie.

‘Where are these horses?’ Sophie asked with a pretty smile after his aunt departed.

‘Waiting outside. Will you be bringing your maid?’ he enquired, wondering how much further he’d push her today. She would melt.

Sophie hesitated, understanding what he was asking. It would be prudent to have someone else there to prevent things getting out of hand, but it would also mean speaking in front of her. She could hardly explain about the party débâcle with someone listening in.

‘We are an acknowledged couple.’

He tucked her hand into his arm. ‘So I am given to understand. I promise to be on my best behaviour.’

‘My maid hasn’t been with us very long and she has a pile of mending to do.’

‘I understand entirely now. Do you go through servants easily? I only ask because your butler appeared quite new.’

He made it seem as though she was careless. ‘My stepmother does demand the best, but normally I keep my maids unless they marry. My last one ran away with the underfootman from two houses down. Jane has only been with us for two weeks.’

‘And you have no idea if she is reliable,’ he said, handing her into the smart carriage.

‘Precisely.’ Sophie turned towards him. ‘I have no idea if she can be tempted to tell her story to the papers. Such things have been known to happen.’

‘With great regularity.’ The dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. He stretched slightly and his arm came around the back of the seat. Sophie sat straighter.

He gestured to the coachman, who started off abruptly and she was jolted back against the seat and his arm, which instantly tightened about her. She gave him a sideways glance, certain he had arranged the incident. His hand squeezed her shoulder, sending a warm pulse through her before he removed it.

‘I’m pleased with your foresight,’ he said. ‘What did you want to speak to me about? What has agitated you? You were positively clinging to that teacup with a death grip.’

Sophie gulped. He had noticed! It made it worse that he’d noticed. She could almost think he cared. She pulled her bonnet forwards so that it covered her face. ‘Was I that obvious?’

‘Only to me. My aunt takes unholy glee in making people agitated and upset. It provides her chief amusement.’ He put his hand over hers and squeezed it. ‘You appeared perfectly in control to everyone else, I am sure.’

Sophie swallowed hard and withdrew her hand from his. She concentrated on looking out the carriage window. Every time they met, she found a reason to like him more. He said precisely the right thing to reassure her, but how hard was that? Men like him did these things for one purpose only—seduction.

‘I need to apologise for my stepmother and her engagement-party scheme,’ she said before she lost her nerve or he developed the wrong idea about why she’d agreed to come without a chaperon. ‘She had the idea fixated in her brain. I had no idea she entertained the notion … until it was too late.’

‘And you haven’t told her the truth.’

‘How could I!’ Sophie turned slightly and faced him. He had to understand about her stepmother and her kind heart. ‘I planned to say something this morning, but my stepmother was preoccupied with the At Home arrangements. I want to let her down gently, Richard. My stepmother means well. She made this promise to my father on his deathbed … and she sees this as a gold opportunity to fulfil it. My father … my father made his own fortune. He wanted his daughter to live like a princess.’

Richard said nothing for a while and Sophie listened to the wheels of the carriage turning, hating that she’d confessed about her father’s naked ambition.

‘My aunt has obviously written to my father,’ he said when her nerves were at breaking point. ‘We will have to instruct our various men of business to begin drawing up the settlement.’

Sophie blinked hard. ‘Excuse me?’

‘During the At Home, you made some remarks about settlements.’

Sophie fiddled with the lace edge of her glove, rather than meet his eyes. Her posturing at the At Home seemed ill conceived now that he was here, questioning her on it. ‘I thought it a kinder way of sowing doubt. I don’t want my stepmother to be too disappointed … when it ends.’

He raised an eyebrow and Sophie knew what he had tactfully not said. The only way she could keep her stepmother from being disappointed now was to actually marry him. She wished she had considered her stepmother’s reaction before embarking on this adventure.

‘You are reluctant to tell your stepmother the truth, particularly in light of her extreme reaction.’

She gave a hesitant nod.

‘Then there is only one course of action. You must instruct your man of business straight away. The matter of settlement must be seen to be being addressed. I shall instruct my solicitors.’ He named a very well-known London firm. ‘My father always uses them. He would think something amiss if I didn’t. I will trust you to make the appropriate outrageous demands.’

She stared at him in wonderment. He actually had the perfect solution to the problem, one she’d never ask, assuming he’d reject it out of hand. She swallowed hard and attempted to puzzle out the implications. ‘You intend to keep your father in ignorance as well?’

‘You would hardly want him replying to your stepmother when she writes to him.’ He paused and gave her a hard look. ‘And you know your stepmother will … if the letter isn’t already in the post. My father is not a man to mince words, Sophie. Neither will he see any reason to lie.’

Sophie closed her eyes. She could readily picture the scene when her stepmother received a terse reply from Richard’s father. The blow would destroy her. Utterly and completely. ‘It is very kind of you. Unexpectedly kind.’

He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I told you that I’d protect you. Why do you harbour so many doubts about my intentions?’

‘Because I do.’

Sophie sat up straighter and tried to ignore the way the warmth crept up her arm. Somehow it felt right to have his hand holding hers. And that was very wrong. No good could come of this carriage ride if she allowed liberties.

‘I will instruct my solicitor.’ She concentrated on taking steadying breaths as the warm tingling feeling increased. It was in moments like these that a woman was most in danger. If she kept her wits about her, she’d survive. She gave her hand a slight tug, but only succeeded in dislodging her bonnet. ‘My old guardian is out of the country with his family and will need to look it over before it is approved, of course. My stepmother will understand the delay. It will buy us time.’

‘Who was it?’ he enquired softly, not letting her hand go. Instead he put his other arm along the back of the seat, almost as if he held her in his arms.

‘Who was who?’ Sophie edged towards the carriage door.

He released her and leant forwards to straighten her bonnet. ‘Who made you so wary of men? Of me?’