Elizabeth Boyle (30 page)

Monty, seated next to Dorlissa, pounded the hapless girl heavily on the back, while the lanky parson tipped over a water pitcher while attempting to pour the unfortunate girl a drink.

“How you tease, Lady Sophia,” Lady Fischer said loudly, drawing the attention away from her daughter’s ungainly mishap. “I would think at your age and in your situation you wouldn’t be so apt to throw off such a fine man as Lord Trahern. Not many men will take a penniless bride.”

Sophia smiled back, trying to decide if she had enough napkin to choke both Giles and Lady Fischer. Before she could think of a reply, she found her rescue in a most unlikely corner.

“Lady Fischer,” Giles interrupted. “I have no concern for dowries or my betrothed’s current circumstances. My father sought this marriage because he found the lady to be engaging and intelligent, her kindness to an old man trapped in his infirmary unequaled. I’ve placed my faith in Lady Sophia because of his high regard, for I know such praise from him would not be misplaced.”

Sophia was taken aback. She’d never known the old marquess had thought so highly of her. Even when he’d proposed the betrothal he’d done it in his usual gruff and terse manner.

You’ll marry my son and be mistress of this house
, he’d ordered one day over a game of chess.
I don’t want some chattering debutante and her harridan mother coming in and ruining the place.

Sophia wondered if the old crank had envisioned Lady Fischer and Dorlissa when he’d issued his mandate.

“Your father was not a man known for his generosity in compliments,” Sophia said quietly, suddenly realizing how much of a debt she owed the old marquess. The hours listening to his tales of espionage and tactics had been her training ground. “I’m pleased to know he enjoyed the time we spent together as much as I did. Byrnewood will be a different place without him.”

“The whole neighborhood is different without him,” Lord Whitcombe blustered at the end of the table. “Good man, he was. Good one to take fishing. Knew his way with horses as well. Good man, he was.”

Whitcombe probably would have continued his litany if it hadn’t been for Lady Whitcombe giving him a sharp jab in the ribs.

The dinner continued quietly for a time.

That was until Lady Fischer and Mrs. Whitcombe started arguing over who should give the newlyweds their first ball.

Sophia started to feel as if she’d fallen into a play near the Palace Royal, one of the comical farces her mother had been so fond of—only this time it was one of her own making.

She knew her aunt had been watching her closely ever since Giles’s comment about her “delicate constitution.” Lady Larkhall was right—she was never ill, at least not when she was in Bath. Emma had warned her that the varied deceptions she was juggling between the aunts would one day start tumbling to earth.

Tonight, Sophia realized, the first one fell.

At Lady Dearsley’s, Sophia used a constant state of ill health to explain her extended need of the waters in Bath under the gracious care of Lady Larkhall. To extract herself from Bath Sophia confided to her kindhearted aunt how lonely her younger sister was. And from the duchess’s home in York Sophia pined for the amusements of London.

Since none of the sisters communicated with each other, having had a tremendous falling out over how to raise their niece, they relied on Sophia to carry messages between them. Using this advantage, she’d been able to travel to Paris whenever she needed to without any of them becoming the wiser.

Lady Larkhall rang the bell for dessert and turned to Giles. “Lord Trahern, when you last saw my niece did you have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Langston, Sophia’s companion?”

Sophia held her breath, her wineglass frozen in midair.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction. Mrs. Langston, how lovely to meet you.” He tipped his head graciously.

“And you, my lord,” Emma answered in an amused tone. “Sophia has told me so much about you.”

Sophia glared at her.

“Mrs. Langston, I hope you don’t think me impertinent,” Giles said. “But have we met before?”

Sophia sputtered on her wine.

“I don’t believe we have,” Emma answered. “I’m certain I’d recall the acquaintance.”

Lady Fischer jumped right in. “Mrs. Langston is being too modest, Lord Trahern. Her late husband was the naval hero Captain Langston. Surely you’ve heard of his brave deeds in the war with the Colonies and in the earlier Dutch campaigns?”

It was Emma’s turn to cough into her napkin.

“Is that so, Mrs. Langston?” Giles scratched his chin. “Wasn’t Captain Langston the commander of the
Nemophila
, or was he on the
Southern Cross
?”

Emma paused, dabbed her lips with her napkin, and looked around the table.

Sophia held her breath, silently praying Emma would get it right. Up to now they’d never met anyone who’d actually known Captain Langston.

Hell, she hadn’t even thought there
was
a Captain Langston.

“It was neither, my lord. My dear departed husband commanded the
HMS Righteous
.”

Giles nodded, as if acknowledging her small victory on this bit of information, but his look said that this was only the beginning of his inquisition.

“And what a brave inspiration you are, Mrs. Langston,” Lady Fischer broke in, “to the rest of us foolish creatures, who haven’t had to give up a loved one for the sake of our country.”

“Yes,” Giles added, with a serious nod. “What sacrifices a woman of your quality makes. I can only hope you’ll continue in my wife’s employ after our marriage. Your fine moral example would only be a credit to our household.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Emma said, turning toward Sophia with a gracious nod.

“Oh, don’t you even consider it, Mrs. Langston.” Lady Fischer poked over her pudding with a delicate sniff. “I’d hoped to lure you away from Lady Sophia once she was wed. My Dorlissa could use the influence of someone of your character.” She nudged her husband, who up to this point had appeared to be dozing. “Wasn’t I saying, Lord Fischer, we must have Mrs. Langston for our Dorlissa. Whatever the cost.”

Lord Fischer huffed and puffed at the mention of money, his bloodshot eyes opening and blinking as if this were the first time he’d realized he was in the middle of a dinner party. “Whatever you say, Lady Fischer. Price is no object. Always spend top dollar for cattle, I say, and you’ll get top stock.” When everyone stared at him in wonder, he shrugged his shoulders and started a close inspection of his dessert.

“Oh, do say you’ll come to Fischer Castle, Mrs. Langston,” Lady Fischer implored.

Giles grinned at Sophia before turning to Lady Fischer. “I’m sure you’d find Mrs. Langston’s influence on your dear daughter a wonder to behold.”

Sophia watched her aunt look first at Giles and then in her direction, as if she were trying to determine what exactly was the undercurrent traveling between them.

Nevertheless, the perplexed lady rang the bell for the dishes to be cleared, and she rose from the table to excuse the ladies.

“Gentlemen, please enjoy a glass or two of port. And when you feel inclined I bid you to join us in the Rose Room.” She withdrew from the table, the ladies rising and following her in en masse.

Mrs. Fischer caught Sophia by the elbow. “Don’t look so forlorn, my dear girl. If dinner was any indication of your betrothed’s feelings, I’d predict he’ll be joining us in record time.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sophia muttered under her breath as she glanced back to find Giles tipping his glass of port to her in a mock salute.

Lady Fischer’s prediction Sophia found out, did not prove true. It seemed the men were never going to join the party in the Rose Room. Meanwhile, Sophia paced about the room in an utterly unladylike fashion, until she looked up and caught her aunt watching her. Dropping into the nearest chair, she tried to concentrate on the inane chatter flowing mostly from Lady Fischer.

“As I was saying, Lady Larkhall, I have it on the best authority, and through only the most confidential of sources, that it has been said by a certain lady who shall remain nameless that …”

Sophia glanced over at Emma, who sat trapped between Lady Fischer and the ever dear Dorlissa. She’d never seen her companion look more miserable, her fingers lacing and unlacing in her lap.

Emma was probably plotting right now how to escape to her room, light up her pipe, and start drafting a resignation letter. Effective immediately.

A few minutes later, unable to stand the suspense, Sophia found herself back on her feet, stalking the room again.

While Giles hadn’t said anything at dinner, it was only a matter of time before he would confront her. She could take the fact that he hadn’t denounced her outright at dinner as a good sign, but this insistence of his that they be wed immediately was preposterous. She’d ruin his reputation if they were married and her dual identity ever revealed.

Male laughter in the hallway stopped Sophia in her tracks. The men paraded into the room—Lord Fischer mumbling to no one in particular, Lord Whitcombe espousing to the young parson the finer points of hounds, and, finally, Giles, trailing along with an indifferent smile tacked on his face. In fact, he barely looked in her direction, instead heading directly for the empty seat next to Lady Fischer.

If he was anxious to confront her it didn’t show from his obvious lack of interest or his languid pace.

Sophia promptly turned her back to him and stared out the windows into the moonlit shadows of the rose garden.

“Oh, what a splendid idea, Lord Trahern,” Lady Fischer exclaimed. “You are a romantic and daring fellow. If only I was but a few years younger.”

Sophia glanced over her shoulder, suspicious of anything the odious lady found splendid.

“Lady Sophia, where are you?” Lady Fischer called out, craning her head back and forth until the feathers in her wig became a blur of pink and white. “Oh, you sly girl, there you are. Hiding over there as if you didn’t care a bit about Lord Trahern’s arrival.” The gregarious lady poked Giles with her fan. “She’s been pacing the room like a fox since we left your charming company. Pining for you, she was. Come on, gel, His Lordship has a favor to ask you.”

Sophia grit her teeth, turned around, and tried to smile. Crossing the room, she stopped several feet shy of the couch where Lady Fischer held her impromptu court.

“I would have no objections if this were my dear Dorlissa—” She paused and sent a poignant look in the duke’s direction, hoping he’d take the hint. Monty seemed oblivious to the woman’s matchmaking. Lady Fischer gave up on the duke for the moment and returned her attentions to Sophia. “I am sure your aunt will agree with me, Lady Sophia. Lord Trahern would like to take you for a stroll in the orangery.”

Shaking her head, Sophia struggled to find a polite way to say “no” without making it come out like an emphatic “
hell, no!
” Alone with Giles? Not if she could avoid it.

“I’m afraid I left my shawl in my room, and the orangery has such a terrible chill this time of year …” She stuttered along, searching the room for support from someone, anyone.

“Pish and nonsense,” Lady Fischer said, reaching over and stripping Dorlissa’s wrap from her narrow shoulders in a quick snap. “This should be adequate. Now, go on with you. Your aunt has no objections, do you, Lady Larkhall?”

“None whatsoever. Go on, Sophia. The lively air might put some color back in your cheeks. You look rather pale this evening.”

The unmistakable challenge in her aunt’s words left Sophia in a quandary. If she continued to back away from Lord Trahern, she’d spend the rest of the evening undergoing a lengthy interrogation by her aunt as to what was going on between her and Lord Trahern.

Taking another tack, she turned to her companion. “Emma, would you accompany us? You’ve always taught me it is immodest and improper to accompany men unescorted.”

Emma leaned forward to get up, until Lady Fischer raised her fan in warning.

“Stay right where you are, Mrs. Langston,” she said.

Emma’s eyes widened, and then a bemused look passed quickly over her face. She inclined her head to Sophia as if to say,
You’re on your own with this one.

Lady Fischer rose from the sofa and caught Sophia by the elbow. “I’ll hear no more of these missish excuses from you. This isn’t London. Here in the country we are free from some of the restraints society places on young lovers. Take the liberties where you can find them, my dear girl.”

Before Sophia could utter another protest she found herself being propelled toward the now open door leading toward the orangery.

Giles beamed at his complete and utter rout of her safe position in the salon.

Before releasing Sophia into the care of her betrothed, Lady Fischer added her final piece of courting advice.

“Maidenly virtues and reticent manners are fine indeed,” she whispered none too quietly. “But do you want the man to think you aren’t interested? You’ve led a sheltered, sequestered life with your aunts. Live, Lady Sophia, take some chances with your life. He might even be inclined to steal a kiss if you’d smile a bit.” The lady winked at Giles.

With those words ringing in her ears, Sophia found herself being pushed out the door and into the waiting arms of her betrothed.

“J
ust let go of me, you great ponderous—” Sophia sputtered the moment Lady Fischer closed the door.

Giles noted her quick use of the insult the Brazen Angel favored, then saw the realization dawn on her face as to what she had nearly said.

Her mouth snapped shut, and when she spoke again, her tone changed to the sweet and even-tempered tones of a lady.

“Please, my lord,” she continued, “be so kind as to unhand me.”

Giles did just that, depositing her quite nicely on a padded bench positioned under the gloomy portrait of a Larkhall ancestor. He had no desire to hold the traitorous female in his arms any more than she wanted to be held. At least not until he had some answers. And honest ones at that.

For a minute they stood there, facing each other in stormy silence. Absently, she started picking at the wrappings on her injured hand.