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Henri’s heart sank. After all her work with Sophie, he wouldn’t listen to the truth. He’d hit Sebastian because of Sophie. He was going to act the same way as he’d done yesterday—leaping to conclusions and expecting everyone to agree with them. The pain in her head threatened to become a full-blown headache.
‘Henri, he hit me,’ Sebastian said with a petulant pout.
‘I dare say you deserved it.’ She tapped her boot on the ground. ‘It can go with the other lumps on your head.’
‘You know about those.’ Sebastian winced and gingerly felt the top of his head. ‘Why did she have to tell you about those? It is bad enough to have been bested by him, but by a mere slip of a girl.’
‘Tell you about what?’ Robert sat up. ‘What did Sophie do to you, Cawburn? How did she best you?’
‘Hit me on the head with a frying pan,’ Sebastian admitted, making a face. ‘The little hell-cat will get her come-uppance. Nobody does that to me!’
Robert’s face froze, but Henri fancied that he was struggling to keep a straight face. She bit her lip and hoped. Surely now Robert would listen to Sophie before he started publishing the banns.
‘I have brought Sophie down, Robert. And the missing frying pan. She will explain all. It is really quite simple. Pay attention, as you have a tendency to overcomplicate.’ Henri grabbed Sophie by the hand and led her into the room.
‘Sophie! Your stepmother will be delighted to see you when we get back to the New Lodge.’
Robert opened his arms, but Sophie held back, clinging to Henri’s hand like a limpet.
‘Sophie, remember what we spoke about. It must come from you, not me. The whole truth.’ Henri tried gently to prise her fingers away. Sophie was going to have to do this bit on her own.
‘Henri, you promised to be my ally,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I might need you to say the words.’
Henri gave the young woman a little push into the centre of the room. It was Sophie’s turn to stand up for what she wanted. ‘You must, Sophie. Tell your guardian precisely what you do and do not want. He is far from a mind reader. He needs to hear your words. He needs to know how you fought to protect your honour. Without embellishment.’
‘I have no wish to marry Lord Cawburn, if you please, Robert.’ Sophie moved away from Henri and stood in the centre of the small room. Although she looked young and vulnerable, her voice did not waver and her back remained straight and proud. Henri nodded. Sophie was using the exact form of words they had agreed. She told the whole story from beginning to end. Robert lifted his eyebrow once or twice when she mentioned how she had tricked Henri and then how she had used Henri’s suggestion of hitting him over the head with a frying pan.
‘I do not believe even after today there is any cause for me to marry him,’ Sophie finished, clasping her hands on her chin as Henri had practised with her. ‘Lord Cawburn has done nothing to dishonour me. As for a partner to go through life with, Lord Cawburn is far from ideal. I believe I can do better, much better, and Lord Cawburn deserves someone who will love him for the man he is.’
The room seemed to hold its breath, but then Robert burst out laughing.
‘I wish I could have seen Cawburn’s face when you hit him. Thank you for telling me the truth,’ Robert said. ‘Ultimately I want you to be happy. Your friends and family will stand by you. And hopefully you have learnt your lesson. And, Thorndike, that was a totally unnecessary gesture you suggested at the end. Melodrama at its worst.’
Henri glared at him. He was supposed to be moved to tears, but the situation amused him. ‘Are you accusing me of interfering? You never behave how you’re supposed to!’
‘It was Sophie’s recital of the truth that swayed me, not the gesture. I saw you make a motion to Sophie to bring her hands up. I’d have hoped that you thought better of me than to have to be swayed by play-acting. I wanted the truth and Sophie spoke it.’
Henri’s insides ached. Play-acting. Perhaps it was, but it was in a good cause. And he was laughing at her efforts. ‘I…I…wanted to help. Details are important.’
‘And you did—by telling Sophie to always carry a frying pan!’ His eyes softened. ‘Thankfully she is not afraid to use it. And there is the evidence of Mrs Mumps. The only person who should be frightened about his reputation is Lord Cawburn.’
‘Do you mean that, truly?’ Sophie’s face broke out into a wreath of smiles. ‘I’m not sure I want a Season, either. Far too many rules. I’m beginning to love the country.’
‘With your ability to wield a frying pan, Miss Ravel, I do not believe anyone will trouble you if you change your mind about London,’ Sebastian said. His face became wreathed in schoolboy innocence, the sort of look that Sebastian used when he was up to something. ‘Now, Henrietta, sweet cousin, what are we going to do about your predicament?’
