Sophie's Halloo (8 page)

He grimaced smugly. “You must first realize that you have been accepted by one of the most exclusive assemblies in the world. Here you will meet with princes and princesses, lords and ladies—and these, too, I must remind you, have had to apply for the approval of the patronesses no less than yourself—and among them, many sirs and the select misters that make up the best that society has. You have, in short, passed the scrutiny at Almack’s, and having done that, need have no further worries of acceptance by the elite.” He finished and waited for Sophie’s gratitude to be dutifully expressed.

She complied as reasonably as politeness would allow, but Mr. Rollo was not unduly disappointed. He was mentally disposed to fill in wherever her own thanks should be deficient.

With token confidence in her abilities, then, he offered, “I will not presume to overwhelm you with advice, Miss Corby. Your own good sense will tell you how to go on.” Somehow his superior smile did not convey the same confidence as his words.

Sophie was grateful for a change of partners when the dance ended. She was not obliged to take a rest from the dancing, for her hand was claimed for every set. Mr. Rollo returned later in the evening to beg for another, and this time he reminded her that the date for their proposed visit to the Royal Academy was approaching. She acknowledged the truth of it, but privately found that she was not looking forward to the scheme with the same degree of delight she had felt earlier.

Her partner, however, was certain of the pleasure she would derive from it and spent the remainder of the time they were together in telling her of the treat that was in store.

As he took his departure with a solemn bow, Sophie became aware that Tony was waiting to claim the next dance. Immediately, though the length of the evening had become rather oppressive, her spirits rose.

“Are you enjoying the assembly, Miss Corby?” he asked, and she fancied he wished for an honest answer.

“Yes,” she said without affectation, but then added with a haughty look, “having now passed the scrutiny of this august assembly, I need not be concerned that my qualifications to take place among the elite will be questioned further.”  She was pleased to see him start and turn to look at her closely. Her impish smile reassured him, and he answered with a twinkle.

“Indeed, they will not. I suppose some bore has been telling you so, in case it were not perfectly clear. You have had no small number of partners this evening, and I will not be so rude as to ask you which one has such an elevated opinion of himself.”

Sophie smothered a giggle. “Do you think,” she asked, after a moment’s pause, “that in my advanced years I shall be quizzing young ladies and gentlemen as they enter these portals? Ought I to cultivate a certain look, a lifted eyebrow, a faint sneer to set their knees a-trembling? Would it advance my own position within the ton?”

Tony grinned. “No. Leave that for the elite masses.  You must remain just as you are.”

“But can I?” asked Sophie, this time more seriously. “If balls and assemblies are to become a habit, even a bore, perhaps, shall I always be the same?”

“I think so,” he answered unconcernedly. “These amusements never lose their essential qualities. It is only when the security of one’s position becomes more important than simply enjoying oneself that one stops enjoying society. And then, of course, you must do things to fight for that position, always at the cost of someone else’s. But you will not do that.” He smiled at her in a way that warmed her heart.

She coloured and strived to cover up how much he had affected her. “Then I needn’t quiz anyone?” she asked, lightly this time.

“No.”

She sighed resignedly. “I had rather looked forward to quizzing someone, but if you insist...” Her voice trailed off, and he grinned as they moved apart.

The dance was a lively reel and did not permit much conversation, but once again they were together long enough for Tony to ask, “Who was that gentleman, Miss Corby, whom you danced with earlier?” His voice was uncharacteristically indifferent. “I fancied it was he who claimed your hand after our first dance.”

“Oh, that was Mr. Rollo,” answered Sophie matter-of-factly. “He is a friend of Papa’s.”

Tony nodded, “Ah, I see. You must see him often in Berkeley Square, then.” His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Yes, we do,” said Sophie with a forced gaiety. She thought it her duty to sound cheerful about her father’s choice of company. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Rollo has kindly invited me to go with him to see the Royal Academy. Of course, I shall be delighted,” she said, reflecting that her delight lay in the promise of a new attraction rather than in the company.

“Of course,” said Tony, sounding slightly less than delighted himself. “What day would you be going?”

“On Friday,” said Sophie with some surprise. “Why do you ask?”

Tony responded quite innocently. “Why, simply because I am engaged to do the same, and coincidentally, on the same day. And you think you will be going at... ?” He left off expectantly.

“At two o’clock” was the answer.

The corners of his mouth turned up approvingly. “Excellent,” he said. “The very best time of day to go. That was when I had intended going myself.”

CHAPTER SIX

Unbeknownst  to Sophie,  a change of plans had been made concerning the trip to the Royal Academy. Mr. Rollo had informed Sir John that two of his friends had begged to be included in the scheme, and Sophie’s father had then suggested to Lady Corby that she stay at home. The young people would have more fun without her along, he had said. They would get to know each other better.

And in reply to Lady Corby’s disappointment at not seeing the Academy, he had promised to take her there himself at a future date, with no intention, of course, of ever keeping it. Lady Corby was not deceived. Her married life was full of such unkept promises, though she did not accuse Sir John of purposefully lying to her, merely of putting off into an obscure future all the things he did not truly wish to do.

Friday afternoon arrived, and Mr. Rollo appeared at the door; his two friends were waiting in the carriage.  Sophie had only been apprised of the change in plans that morning and was not terribly pleased to find that the “two friends” could have been more accurately termed “a pair.” The young lady and gentleman were seated in the rear seat of the phaeton with, it seemed, no more than an inch between them, and her arm was rather permanently linked through his. Mr. Rollo introduced them as Miss Kate Stanfield and Mr. Repton. They greeted her politely and then returned to their whisperings with an occasional giggle or squeal from Miss Stanfield.

Mr. Rollo handed Sophie into the carriage, and she took her seat as far from the centre as safety would allow. She hoped that no one would see them and draw conclusions about the two in front based upon the behaviour of the pair in back. Being in this quartet made her feel uncomfortably particular, much more so than had riding alone with Sir Tony.

Mr. Rollo’s team of horses consisted of four beautifully matched bays. They were showy and obviously well cared for, so Sophie felt safe in opening the conversation with a comment on their excellence. She could not have picked a better topic.

“Thank you, Miss Corby,” Mr. Rollo replied, beaming. “I do not deny that they are a fine team.  They were purchased directly from Lord Pipcock at a considerable price and only after what must be considered the most fortunate occurrence. You will scarcely credit my good luck. He had just lost his entire fortune at cards the night before and was quite desperate to raise enough funds to flee the country—otherwise he would not have parted with them.” Mr. Rollo’s tone solicited her warmest congratulations.

“
You
, indeed, were most fortunate, Mr. Rollo,” said Sophie with the slightest emphasis.

“Yes, wasn’t I?” said Rollo, but not without a hint of meriting it fully. “And I have not been disappointed with them. Of course, I would give my ancestral home to have a team of matched greys, but to come in the way of purchasing such a team as this is not every man’s good fortune. Repton and I have been trying them at their full pace between Sevenoaks and Maidstone, and we are confident that they’ve tied the record. Isn’t that so, Repton?” he called back to the rear seat for confirmation.

But all he got by way of reply were some muffled words and a giggle from the back seat. Mr. Rollo shrugged his shoulders with a smirk in their direction and offered this explanation to Sophie. “Do not mind them, Miss Corby. They are newly engaged to be married. I can only congratulate my friend Repton upon finding the right lady to complement his household. I hope to see myself as well-connected one day soon.”  This last was said with a look of confidence in Sophie’s direction.

Sophie hastened to change the subject and was able to persuade Mr. Rollo to continue speaking about his horses. But he managed to flatter her once more.

“I was certain to find in you an excellent judge of horses, Miss Corby. As knowledgeable as your father is, you must often hear him speak of them.”

She hastened to deny it. “Oh, you are quite mistaken, Mr. Rollo. Indeed, I know very little about horses. Only how to ride them. And I must add that I do not perform that very well.”

“Well, no matter,” said Rollo, evidently not in the least put off. “I would not expect a lady to show much expertise in the matter of horseflesh. It is enough that your father is so notable a judge.”

Sophie was not certain of the intention of his last statement and not at all clear how it related to Mr. Rollo’s approval of herself. But she went on, hoping to discourage him somehow. “My father would not consider himself an expert on coach horses, sir. Aside from a few episodes during his days at university, he has never shown an interest in becoming a coachman.”

Mr. Rollo became instantly more serious. He leaned toward her slightly and spoke earnestly. “Ah, Miss Corby,” he said with a sigh. “How I envy him that choice. Had I a domicile in Leicestershire or the means of maintaining myself and my horses for the season in Melton Mowbray, I should not be occupying myself in this fashion. I can sincerely assure you that once I have achieved a more permanent residence in that blessed county, I shall abandon all my less important pursuits. No man, when given the opportunity, would choose differently.” He sighed so heavily that Sophie, had she had any inclination to disbelieve him, would have reversed it.

But she did not doubt his words. They only confirmed what she had suspected of him from their first acquaintance. And now it was clear to her that Mr. Rollo intended to use her to obtain his heart’s desire. That was the reason that it mattered not whether they shared the same devotion to the finer points of a horse’s conformation. What should it matter so long as her father did? It was her father who could convey that “more permanent residence” in the Shires, and he who was the companion of Mr. Rollo’s soul, not his daughter.

They drove on to the Academy in mutual silence, Sophie in serious contemplation of the difficulties she now foresaw, and Rollo in silent longing for his elusive objective.

Sophie was relieved to see when they arrived that Miss Stanfield and Mr. Repton were not so lost to their surroundings that they could not behave with propriety once they were outside the carriage. They linked arms and followed Mr. Rollo as he led the way into Somerset House with Sophie at his side.

There was quite a handsome crowd assembled to view the exhibition of pictures, so many in fact that at first Sophie was only aware of the array of bonnets and beavers adorning their heads. But as her eyes grew accustomed to the room, she could see beyond their hats to the immense canvases that adorned the walls, all in elaborate frames. Gentlemen in heroic poses and ladies reclining on sofas looked down upon the crowd, while angelic children, often on the backs of ponies or seated with a pet dog in their laps, raised their eyes heavenward. She was so pleased with the general effect that she had to smile at Mr. Rollo, who was awaiting her reaction.

“A splendid scene, is it not, Miss Corby? I come here often to enjoy it. And a mere shilling’s admittance is no hindrance. It only serves to assure one of the respectability of all others present. You will discover that there are many astute critics among the crowd, and you have only to overhear their comments to benefit from their judgement. After three or perhaps four visits, you will begin to form judgements for yourself and be better able to assess the progress of a new artist in the improvement of his work.”

Sophie inclined her head in acceptance of his assessment, for she was quite willing to believe herself incapable of an educated opinion on the artists. She had never had the chance to observe so many fine works of art, no one in her own family having the slightest inclination to obtain any. So taking Mr. Rollo’s proffered arm, she prepared to enjoy the next hour.

They obtained a list of the portraits that were hung in the many rooms and strolled through the thick crowd to admire them. Mr. Rollo commented on each for her benefit, not neglecting to tell her the price most recently fetched by each artist on his piece in the previous competition. She noticed that Mr. Rollo’s opinion of each of the present works was either high or low in direct correlation with the sum now offered for that artist’s work.

“A splendid execution!” he would assert before a portrait of strictly formal composition. “I should not be at all surprised if this portrait places quite high in the competition.”

“Indeed, Mr. Rollo?” ventured Sophie. “I do not see that it distinguishes itself in any way from the other, though, of course, it is quite pleasing.”

He turned toward her with a superior smile. “You would not, Miss Corby,” he assured her. “This is merely your first visit to Somerset House and you cannot expect to be as discerning on such limited knowledge. But I can inform you that this same artist was the clear winner in the previous competition and this is not inferior to his last work. You would not credit the price that was fetched on that occasion, I daresay.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Rollo,” agreed Sophie abashed. They moved on to the next portrait, but Sophie was startled to hear his next comment.