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‘The entire village will be expecting to see you at the ball.’ Henri attempted to move the conversation away from the dangerous shoals of her relationship with Robert. ‘They will have been debating for hours on the nature of your dress. Miss Armstrong is sure to have worked various old ladies into a veritable frenzy with her hints and little remarks.’
‘Miss Armstrong is only being pleasant to me because Robert is unmarried. She fancies herself as Mrs Montemorcy.’ Sophie looked over both her shoulders and lowered her voice. ‘Stepmama is certain that Robert will get a title for services to industry. It is only a “matter of time”.’
‘Sophie, repeating gossip is seldom attractive.’
‘But if gossip is true, what is the harm in repeating it?’ Sophie fluffed up her curls. ‘Miss Armstrong underestimates me. She thinks because I’m only seventeen, I’m completely brainless and do not see through people. I learnt long ago to judge between the genuine and those who sought to use me. However, her excessive civility impresses Stepmama.’
Henri stared at Sophie in astonishment. Clearly there was more to Sophie than she had first considered. She might be young, but she did notice things.
‘Is there some problem?’ Robert asked, coming in. He placed his top hat down on the table. ‘Sophie, moderation. Your voice could be heard halfway to Corbridge, if not Hexham. What are you two discussing with such vigour?’
‘Henri informs me that you’d best dance with me if you want to keep speculation about my past to a minimum. I’ve been explaining why you don’t dance.’
Robert’s eyes assessed her and deepened to a molten caramel. Henri’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Does she, indeed?’ All warmth drained from his face. ‘And Henri knows best.’
The air crackled between them. Henri was the first to drop her gaze.
‘On things like this, I do,’ Henri remarked as steadily as she could. ‘I dare say that you can dance the first quadrille with your ward. It’s for Sophie’s sake, rather than mine that I ask. It’ll serve to introduce her properly to the village. Your duty, Montemorcy.’
‘And you know my duty?’
‘Yes. This dance with Sophie.’ Henri knew she lied. She wanted to dance with him and spend a few moments in his arms. But the more she thought about it, the more she knew she was correct. Robert needed to dance with his ward. He needed to lay his ghosts to rest.
He sketched a bow. ‘I’ll take the matter under consideration.’
Henri hated the way her stomach hurt and how much she wanted it to be her whom he danced with. ‘It is good to know that you will consider it.’
‘Then I am going to the ball and dancing.’ Sophie clapped her hands.
‘Henri appears determined that you will go.’
‘Sophie believes that she needs to stay here with me and I protested.’ Henri reached over and rearranged the coverlet that was protecting her skirt. ‘I believe she needs to be seen and what better way to be seen than to dance the first quadrille. If you’ll not dance with her, then you must nominate someone else. She mustn’t be a wallflower.’
‘You’ve expended considerable thought on this.’ Robert’s eyes travelled slowly down the black round gown and returned to linger on her lips.
‘Just as you are determined to have me embrace the scientific method.’ Henri gave him a hard look. ‘And Lady Winship is sure to agree about the arrangement. Miss Armstrong always muddles her figures, going to the left when she should be circling to the right.’
‘You do Miss Armstrong a disservice.’
‘I think not. I’ve seen the damage she can work on an innocent dance. Ask Lady Winship about the Harlequin incident from last autumn.’
‘Isn’t my portrait of Henri good, Robert?’ Sophie handed it to him with brilliant smile. ‘I really think I captured her. Why she’s been allowed to remain a widow all this time, I have no idea.’
‘Perhaps because I want to be one,’ Henri muttered under her breath. She could see what Sophie was attempting to do—arrange a match, despite her earlier protests. The approach was far from subtle. But, honestly, the thought of a match between her and Robert was ridiculous. Both were entirely set in their ways. Neither wanted marriage. She curled her fingers and refused to think about her intimate dreams about him or…the kiss she was supposed to forget, but kept remembering at the oddest of times. She’d never lingered over Edmund’s kisses. And now she struggled to remember a single one.
He looked at the picture and then at Henri. The furrow between his brows deepened. Henri craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of the portrait. She had seen some of Sophie’s other work and thought it quite good, in particular a portrait of Robert where his face was relaxed and smiling. There had been something about the eyes.
