‘Yes, he is quick, and the drawl is not exaggerated.’ Sophy laughed. ‘It is nice to know that there is at least one gentleman, besides Tyneham, who will be happy to stand up with me.’
‘You forget Lord Rothley, Sophy.’
‘Hmmm, I do not know for certain that Lord Rothley is a gentleman.’
It could not be said that when Sophy did manage to catch her mother alone, Lady Chelmarsh gave her daughter any reason to condemn Lord Rothley as a scoundrel. By the same token, and in a very non-specific way, she remained keen that the girls did not put themselves ‘in his way’. Sophy was writing the list of those to whom she should send out invitations to the Chelmarsh party, and asked whether she should omit him.
‘Oh dear, that is so very awkward. His poor mother was such a nice woman, too, and had so much to put up with. I would vastly prefer not to do so, but that in itself might lead to talk. I wish he were elsewhere, and most certainly that you had not been introduced. I mean, there are plenty of gentlemen with whom none of you have yet stood up. Plenty.’
Sophy felt as if this were somehow laid at her door.
‘But Mama, I could not have known he was not bon Ton. He was a guest at Lady Orpington’s and I am sure that—’
‘I do not blame you, Sophronia, not at all. You could not have known … And he is received everywhere. His Ton is not in question but there are reasons …’ Lady Chelmarsh did not look her first-born in the eye, but focussed upon a Dresden shepherdess in a particularly coy pose, adorning the mantelshelf.
‘Mama, I am not a girl in her first Season. Do you not think I might be told the truth of the situation. I shall neither swoon nor—’
‘No, Sophronia, there are some things which I really feel I may not discuss with you. Suffice to say that it is terribly important that you, and especially Susan, are not seen in his company. The damage it might do …’
‘Are you saying we must not even acknowledge him?’ Sophy was confused, for he had not seemed at all unpopular with either the other gentlemen present, or indeed the ladies, at Lady Orpington’s. She had seen hopeful mothers introduce him to their daughters, and if he was so desperate a man, why should they do so?
‘No, you must not make it that obvious. It would be almost as bad …’ Lady Chelmarsh did not elaborate as to why. ‘I simply do not want you to encourage him.’
‘Do we refuse to dance with him?’
‘I … It would be better if you did not, but of course it might be awkward … Oh dear, it is so complicated.’ Lady Chelmarsh wrung her hands. ‘And so we are back to the question of whether we should invite him to our party. Would it look too obvious if we did not? Oh dear.’
‘Please, Mama, do not agitate yourself. Susan is, I am sure, aiming far higher than a viscount, and will not make an exhibition of herself over Lord Rothley. She received roses from Bollington this morning and is massively buoyed up by it.’
Lady Chelmarsh shook her head at that, but took some comfort.
‘And Rothley will inherit but an earldom. I never thought to be relieved by Susan’s mercenary mind.’
‘Will he? I did not know.’ Sophy was not particularly interested in his lineage. ‘I never came across him in London before, but Sir Esmond Fawley said that he had been abroad, following the death of his mother. Oh, is that, I wonder, where his reputation fell by the wayside?’
Her mama ignored the question, and took up instead the name of Sir Esmond Fawley.
‘Now there is a gentleman. Reserved, of course, not one to let his feelings become engaged, but always polite.’
‘I am so glad that you do at least approve of one of my dancing partners, then, Mama, especially as I am going, probably with Susan, to select hacks under his aegis tomorrow.’
‘Goodness. You did not mention this last night, Sophronia.’
‘The arrangement was made this morning, Mama.’
Sophy told her mother of the encounter in Hyde Park. Lady Chelmarsh listened, and privately thought that, to her total surprise, Lord Tyneham might have a rival in the offing. It was more than she could ever have hoped for her woefully tall daughter.
Ironically, both gentlemen under discussion in Hill Street were later to be found at Limmer’s as members of a party enjoying a convivial and female-free evening where the gentlemen might enjoy a good English dinner, and discuss horseflesh and the animals to watch as the flat racing season developed. The party was relaxed, with much laughter over the tale of Mr Hubert Apperley’s ‘system’, which involved betting on horses according to the letters of the alphabet, so that at his first meeting of the season he placed them upon animals beginning with the letter A, and at the next only those beginning with B. As Lord Rothley remarked, he might find very few bets to place when he reached the letter X. Several of the gentlemen about the table tried to come up with possible names for horses beginning with X, but only managed Xerxes and Xenophobe.
‘As well to stick a pin in the race card,’ declared Mr Tyrley, debating whether to take more apple pudding, or essay the peaches in brandy.
‘If it did not count as tampering, I should say he would do better simply sticking a pin in the horse direct,’ responded Sir Esmond Fawley, ‘As I recall, Apperley’s “system” last year was based upon selecting horses with a white stocking on the off hind. You will note that his losses outweighed his winnings, as usual.’
‘What system would you advise, then, Fawley?’ Lord Rothley twisted the stem of his wine glass between thumb and fingers, and gazed into the dark liquid as if it were Delphic.
‘Me? Simple. I never bet upon any horse I have not seen run before, and I do not trust “certainties from a knowing source”.’
‘You n-never b-bet upon m-m-maidens?’ enquired Lord Marsden, with some difficulty.
