‘Not really. You know, I think perhaps she makes me feel old too.’ The smile became very nearly a grin.
Sophy’s lips twitched, and it was a lady in far better humour who invited him into the house in Hill Street to take a glass of wine and a light nuncheon in thanks for his putting himself at their disposal. He wavered, but Lady Chelmarsh added her entreaties, looking rather too keen that he remain, in her daughter’s opinion.
‘And why should I not be pleased, Sophronia, dear?’ she asked when he departed. ‘To be sure he is a very nice man, and tall too. He does not seem to mind you being unnatural.’
Sophy choked.
‘Unnaturally tall, I meant,’ explained her mother, hastily.
‘Mama, he has stood up for one dance with me and been gentlemanly enough to offer assistance this morning.’
‘“From little acorns”, my dear, and as I recall we never got as far as even an acorn before.’
‘Thank you for that encouraging thought, Mama.’
‘But it is encouraging, Sophronia. There is Sir Esmond, being agreeable, and then there is Tyneham, and—’
‘I would not marry my cousin Tyneham were he the last man on earth,’ declared Sophy, belligerently.
‘Sadly, Sophronia, for your chances of marriage it is possible he may as well be.’
Sophy went up to her room to change for the afternoon in a chastened frame of mind.
She did not encounter either of the gentlemen Lady Chelmarsh had lined up as putative suitors at Lady Madditson’s party that evening, but did find herself next to the ‘dangerous’ Lord Rothley. She actually jumped when he spoke to her.
‘I am sorry, did I take you by surprise, ma’am?’
‘Yes, my lord, you did. You have an unnerving ability to appear as if conjured out of the floor.’
‘Should I fold my arms in a genie-like pose and offer you three wishes, perhaps?’ He smiled, and, whether Mama was looking or not, Sophy smiled back. It was simply impossible not to do so. ‘Or would you like me to engage a herald to announce my approach?’
‘You are roasting me, sir.’
‘Gently, ma’am, and over the lowest of heats, I assure you.’
‘Now you are treating me as a … a joint of meat. That is hardly flattering.’
‘I did not initiate the culinary analogy, Lady Sophy. You did.’
This was terrible. There was the wolfish twinkle again, and oh, how nice it was to—goodness, was she flirting?
‘Only very politely,’ he confirmed, gravely.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Her hand went to her cheek, and she coloured. ‘I didn’t just say that out lou—’
‘Do you speak your thoughts often? If so, I promise not to reveal this trait to others, but I will pay extra attention to whatever you say in the future. Not that I was ignoring you thus far, of course.’ The wolfish look was replaced by something more kindly. ‘Shall I procure you a glass of champagne, or the fruit cup, if you prefer? I have discommoded you. Forgive me.’
He was dangerous. Sophy recognised it now, for when he made his supplication like that, she could forgive him almost anything. She glanced to where Lady Chelmarsh was engrossed in conversation with an elderly and rotund gentleman. Taking refreshments with Lord Rothley had not been specifically banned, and it did mean Mama need not see that she and he had been in conversation. It was duplicitous but would upset that lady the less.
‘Thank you, champagne would be very nice.’
He bowed, and threaded his way towards a servant bearing a salver of glasses. Sophy watched him as he all but disappeared from view, his dark head nodding as he acknowledged acquaintances as he completed his ‘quest’. Whilst not as tall as Sir Esmond, his presence was not so much to do with his physicality as an indefinable quality to him. He returned with two glasses.
‘Here is your restorative champagne, ma’am. You need not look concerned, for I am sure none but I heard or saw anything.’
In this he was only partially correct.
It was at this point that Susan bustled up, giving Lord Rothley her widest-eyed attention, and disregarding her cousin.
