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The Husband Season
Mary Nichols


To Catch a Husband!Miss Sophie Cavenhurst wants a husband with whom she can fall head over heels in love.But London is full of traps for an unwary country miss. And when this headstrong beauty is rescued by the maddeningly superior Viscount Kimberley she is certain he’s the last man she would ever consider!Adam has no intention of marrying again – least of all an outspoken girl who cares nothing for propriety!But this handsome widower soon realises that a touch of impropriety might be just what he needs…









‘What are you playing at?’ Adam murmured in Sophie’s ear, startling her; she hadn’t realised he was so close.


‘“Playing at”, my lord?’ she said sweetly. ‘What can you mean?’

‘You know very well what I mean. You manoeuvred Miss Malthouse to sit beside me at supper; it was so obvious I wondered others did not notice it.’

‘Now, how could I, a mere slip of a girl, manoeuvre you, of all people? And why would I?’

‘I do not know, but it was unkind of you. I had to endure her idle chatter throughout supper, and afterwards while we walked. Listening to her is exhausting. I am persuaded you must have some motive.’

‘My lord, I have been accused of being a hoyden and a flirt, and Cassie is convinced that I am trying to put her out with you. I had to make her see otherwise.’

‘And you wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort, of course?’

‘Certainly not. I should be wasting my time, would I not? Have you not declared you are not looking for a second wife?’

‘Indeed I have.’

‘And I am not prepared to be one, so let us be friends.’

He laughed. ‘Oh, Sophie, if anyone could make me change my mind it would be you.’


Born in Singapore, MARY NICHOLS came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, a school secretary, an information officer and an industrial editor, as well as a writer of some sixty novels and a biography. She has three grown-up children, four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.


The Husband

Season

Mary Nichols






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Husband Season features characters that also appear in Mary Nichols’s previous novel. If you enjoy this book, make sure you don’t miss Jane Cavenhurst’s story in Scandal at Greystone Manor.


Contents

Cover (#u224b5a6c-3bb5-5e0a-82db-c26547ab505b)

Excerpt (#u1aba8f17-4d52-57ed-8bca-aa4c396f8f2a)

About the Author (#u7d26d95d-d1ae-5b15-9812-363c8184b9e1)

Title Page (#u30a7e021-5db8-5181-af29-f8d7f5e80ccb)

Dedication (#ube086091-2264-5855-8992-b30fab494e69)

Chapter One (#ub107d70d-1f28-57d0-b670-c7cd039a98c1)

Chapter Two (#u34c806ee-6d7b-5627-bfae-9c965cc6ba29)

Chapter Three (#u6da67039-1ffe-5fd5-a476-3430502592cb)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_b09bd72c-df22-5058-9c88-295d067a666c)

1819

Miss Sophie Cavenhurst was not renowned for her patience or tact. Nor, come to that, for her common sense. This lack was balanced by a comely face and figure, a soft heart and a sunny disposition. Young gentlemen frequently proposed and were as frequently turned down. ‘You see,’ she would say with a smile meant to soften the blow, ‘it just would not do.’ Which, according to her fond papa, showed she had more sense than she was generally credited with.

The trouble was that Sophie measured all prospective husbands against the husbands of her two older sisters, and her swains had always been found wanting. Mark, Lord Wyndham, who was Jane’s husband, was gentle and kind and dependable; Isabel’s husband, the recently knighted Sir Andrew Ashton, was dashing and exciting and was always taking Isabel off to foreign climes to have adventures. They were both wealthy, though their wealth came to them in very different ways: Mark’s through inheritance, Drew’s through international trade. None of the suitors who had asked for her hand in marriage came anywhere near them.

One thing she did not want was a scapegrace like her brother, though she loved him dearly. It had taken a really bad shock and a spell in India for him to come to his senses. To give him his due he had saved the family bacon when it looked as though they would lose everything, including their home, and for that she would forgive him almost anything, even the way he teased her.

‘Sophie, you have exhausted all the eligibles in the neighbourhood,’ he told her one day in April. ‘You are fast earning a reputation for being hard to please.’

‘What is wrong with that? Marriage is a big decision. I don’t want to make a mistake like Issie very nearly did.’

‘And as a consequence will likely end up an old maid.’

‘That’s why I want a Season in London. I would meet new people there.’

‘A Season?’ he asked in surprise. ‘When did you think of that?’

She could not tell him she was afraid she was falling in love with Mark and that simply would not do. She had decided that the best cure was to leave Hadlea for a time and try to find a husband to equal him. What better way than a Season in London? ‘I have been thinking about it for a long time,’ she said. ‘Lucy Martindale is having one this year and she talks of nothing else.’ The Martindales had an estate ten miles from Hadlea and Sophie had known Lucinda since they were at school together. They corresponded frequently and often visited each other.

‘I can quite see you would not want to be left behind, but what does our esteemed father say to the idea?’

‘I haven’t asked him yet.’

‘I doubt you will persuade him to take you. You know how coach travel always makes Mama ill, and he would not leave her behind.’

‘I know that,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But if Papa won’t take me, you will, won’t you?’

‘Good heavens! Whatever gave you that notion?’

‘Well, who else will?’

‘Ask Jane.’ No one in the family seemed to have given up the habit of saying, ‘ask Jane,’ whenever a problem raised its head.

‘Jane is too wrapped up with her baby to leave him, you know that, and Issie is on the high seas somewhere. If you agree to take me, then Papa can have no objection, can he?’

‘Ask him first.’

She found her father in the morning room reading the newspaper, sent down every day from London. He liked to keep abreast of the news, though very little of it was good. There was unrest everywhere, especially in the industrial north, and frequent demonstrations for parliamentary reform, not to mention the unpopularity of the Prince Regent and rumours that he was about to divorce his wife, from whom he was separated. Such a thing was unheard of and set a very bad example to the populace. There was a rumour that, since the death of his daughter and her baby, he was anxious to marry again and produce a legitimate heir. His brothers, none of who had legitimate heirs but plenty of illegitimate ones, were all hastily trying to marry and have children. So far only the Duke of Kent had made any progress in that direction; his duchess was enceinte.

He laid the paper aside when his youngest daughter tripped into the room, all winning smiles. ‘Papa, dear Papa,’ she wheedled, ‘I have a request to make.’

He smiled. ‘And I have no doubt it will cost me money.’

She squatted down on a footstool near him. ‘Yes, I suppose it must, but I know you would not like to disappoint me.’

‘Go on,’ he said patiently.

‘I should like a Season in London.’

‘A Season,’ he repeated. ‘I expected to be asked for a new gown or some such frippery, but a Season! Where did you get that idea?’

‘All young ladies of any standing have come-out Seasons. It is how they find husbands. You would not wish me to be an old maid, would you?’

‘I doubt there is any fear of that.’

‘It is what Teddy said. He said there were no eligibles left hereabouts, so I must look farther afield. He will take me, if you cannot.’

‘I would not lay such a burden on his shoulders, Sophie.’

‘Then, will you and Mama take me?’

‘Sophie, there is no question of you having a Season this year or any other,’ he said. ‘We are not so well up in society as to aspire to such heights. It would cost a prodigious amount of money, which I am afraid cannot be spared. Neither of your sisters had a Season...’

‘But they did go and stay with Aunt Emmeline in Mount Street.’

‘Sophie, they stayed with her for two weeks, and the purpose of the visit was not a come-out as you know very well. They both found their husbands without recourse to balls and assemblies and tea parties.’

‘Yes, but where am I to find another Mark or Drew if I don’t go where I might meet them?’

‘Mark and Andrew are estimable young men, but why would you want a husband like them?’

The reason was her secret, so she simply said, ‘They are my ideal.’

He laughed. ‘Sophie, you will find the right man for you, all in good time. There is no hurry. You are but nineteen years old. Indeed, too much haste could very well end in disaster.’

‘So you will not let me go?’

‘I am afraid not. Now leave me to my newspaper.’

Drooping with disappointment, she left him to find her mother. Lady Cavenhurst was in the garden cutting daffodils from the hundreds that grew there. Sophie poured her woes into her mother’s ears. ‘You will persuade him, won’t you, dearest Mama? You know how important the right connections are to a young lady. There is no hope that I will find a suitable husband in a backwater like Hadlea.’

Her ladyship continued to cut the flowers and lay them in a trug on her arm. ‘Why this sudden urge to be married, Sophie?’

‘It is not sudden. I have been thinking about it ever since Jane and Issie were wed and I felt I should make a push to find a husband like Mark or Drew.’

‘You have set your sights very high, child.’

‘Why not? Is that a fault?’

‘No, dear, of course not.’

‘So will you speak to Papa? Aunt Emmeline would have me, would she not?’

‘Your aunt Emmeline is old, Sophie. I doubt she goes out and about very much nowadays.’

‘Teddy said he will escort me, so you will speak to Papa?’

Her mother sighed. ‘I will talk to him, but if he has made up his mind there will be no shifting him and I will not press him.’

‘Thank you, Mama.’

Having obtained that concession, which would have to do for the time being, Sophie went back indoors. If the answer was still no, she would have to marshal further arguments. She hurried to her room, put on a bonnet and shawl and set off to call on her sister at Broadacres.

Broadacres was a magnificent estate about three miles’ distant from Greystone Manor. It was not as old as the manor, but much grander. A long drive led to a carriage sweep and a truly magnificent facade with dozens of long windows. Cantilevered steps led to a massive oak door. The vestibule had a chequered marble floor and a grand staircase. She was admitted by a footman. ‘Her ladyship is probably in the nursery,’ he said. ‘Shall I go tell her you are here?’

‘No, I will go find her.’

Sophie was perfectly familiar with the layout of the house and soon found her way up to the nursery suite, where her sister was playing on the floor with her ten-month-old son, Harry. She scrambled to her feet when Sophie entered. ‘Sophie, what brings you here? There is nothing wrong at home, I hope.’

‘No, everyone is well. Can’t I visit my sister when I feel like it?’

‘Of course, anytime. You know that.’ She rescued Harry from a cupboard he had crawled into to investigate. ‘I was thinking of wheeling Harry out for a little fresh air. Shall you come, too?’

‘Yes, I should like that.’

Instructions were given to the nursemaid to put warm clothes on the infant and bring him down to the back hall where his baby carriage was kept.

‘Now, tell me what goes on at Greystone,’ Jane said as they went to her room for her to put on outdoor shoes, a shawl and bonnet.

‘Nothing. It is as boring as ever. I want to go to London. I asked Papa for a Season.’

‘And you think that might relieve your boredom?’

‘Well, it would, wouldn’t it? And I might find a husband.’

‘So you might. You might find one here in Norfolk, too.’

‘Teddy says I have exhausted all the eligibles from here.’

Jane laughed. ‘How many proposals have you had?’

‘Well, there was Mr Richard Fanshawe, who is as ill mannered as anyone could possibly be and stormed off in a huff when I rejected him. Then Sir Reginald Swayle, who affects to be a dandy but only succeeds in looking ridiculous, and Lord Gorange, who is positively ancient and has two motherless children. I wonder at Papa even allowing him to speak to me. I can’t marry anyone like that, can I?’

‘I can see your point. What did Papa say about a Season?’ Jane had finished putting on her shoes and was looking in the mirror to tie the ribbons of her bonnet, and her remarks came to Sophie through her reflection.

‘He said no.’

They left the room and went downstairs to where the nursemaid waited with Harry, who was sitting in his carriage beaming at everyone. ‘He will soon be walking,’ Jane said as she wheeled him out of doors and down a path that led into the surrounding park and gardens. ‘He can already pull himself up on the furniture. And I heard him say papa the other day when Mark came into the nursery. Mark is a doting father, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know, and you are a doting mama. I declare that nursemaid has too little to do.’

‘I love being with my son, Sophie, and would be with him all day, but I do have duties which require me to be from him, and then Tilly has plenty to do.’

Sophie knew one of her sister’s abiding passions beside her husband, child and home was the orphanage she had set up in nearby Witherington. She often spent time there herself, helping with the children. ‘You would not leave him to come to London for a while?’

‘No, Sophie, I would not. Is that the reason you are here today—to persuade me to take you?’

‘I guessed you would not. Teddy would take me, but Papa says he is not up to the responsibility.’

‘Papa has a point.’

‘I don’t know why you are all so against Teddy. Since he came back from India, he has been the model of decorum.’

Jane laughed. ‘Hardly that. He seems to have dissipated most of the money he had left after he saved Greystone.’

‘At any rate, he has done nothing untoward, and if we stayed with Aunt Emmeline...’

‘You have worked it all out, haven’t you? What do you want me to do?’

‘Persuade Papa that Teddy can be trusted to look after me. Mama said she will do what she can, but if you spoke to Papa, too, it would help.’

‘Why this sudden urge to go to London?’

‘It is not sudden. I have been thinking of it ever since you and Issie first went, but there were always reasons why I could not. First there was that business over Lord Bolsover, and then the court was in mourning for Princess Charlotte and her baby, and last year old Queen Charlotte died, but I cannot see why I shouldn’t go this year. I have never been to London. You have been several times and Issie has been all over the world. It just is not fair. I shall end up an old maid.’

‘Oh, Sophie, that is highly unlikely,’ Jane said, laughing. ‘There are not many young ladies can boast of having turned down three offers at your age.’

‘But not from the right man.’

‘So, tell me, what would the right man be like? Bear in mind perfection is unattainable.’

‘I don’t want to him be perfect, that would be boring, but he must love me and I must love him, just as you and Mark love each other.’

‘That goes without saying, but what will make you love him, do you think?’

‘He must be tall and handsome and have a fine figure...’

‘That, too, goes without saying.’

Sophie was well aware that her sister was teasing her, but carried on. ‘He must be kind and generous and dependable.’

‘Admirable traits. I commend your good sense.’

‘But on the other hand, I should like him to be exciting, to make my heart beat faster, to take me by surprise sometimes...’

‘Surprises can sometimes not be pleasurable.’

‘I meant pleasant surprises, of course. You are not taking me seriously, Jane.’

‘I am, indeed I am. But you might well find that when you do fall in love, he will be none of those things or perhaps only some of them. Falling in love is not something you can order, like a new bonnet or a new pair of shoes, it just happens.’

‘I know that, but it is never going to happen in Hadlea, is it?’

‘It did to me.’

‘Yes, but there is only one Mark.’

‘I know that.’ Jane smiled. ‘You are quite set on this, I can see. I will ask Mark’s opinion and if he says he can see no harm in it, then I will speak to Papa.’

‘Oh, you are the best of sisters. Thank you, thank you.’

Confident of success, Sophie turned to other subjects: gossip and clothes, Harry’s newly acquired accomplishments, the latest doings of the children at the Hadlea Home and speculation on where Isabel might be and how long before they would see her again.

‘The last letter I had from her was written in India, but she and Drew were about to leave for Singapore,’ Jane said. ‘Have you heard anything more recent?’

‘No, Mama received a similar letter. According to Teddy, Drew has his eye on trade with the Orient and will very likely buy another ship. If he and Issie were to come home by the time the Season begins, they might sponsor me.’ A statement that proved her come-out was never very far from her thoughts. ‘But I cannot depend upon it.’

‘No, better not.’

They turned back the way they had come, Harry was returned to his nursemaid and Jane ordered tea to be brought to the drawing room. ‘Mark has gone to Norwich,’ she said to explain the absence of her husband. ‘I had hoped he would be back by now, but his business must be taking longer than he thought. I will speak to him, Sophie, I promise you, but do not expect miracles.’

Half an hour later Sophie set off for home with a light step.

* * *

Two days later, Mark and Jane brought Harry to visit his grandparents. There was nothing unusual in this; they were frequent visitors, but Sophie immediately assumed they had come on her behalf and joined them in the drawing room. ‘I am so glad to see you,’ she said, taking Harry from his mother and sitting down with him.

‘Naturally, we all are,’ her mother said. ‘But I suspect your enthusiasm has something to do with this idea for having a Season. Am I right?’

‘I thought Jane might help.’

Lady Cavenhurst turned to her eldest daughter. ‘Were you planning to go to London for the Season, Jane?’

‘No, Mama, I would not leave Harry or the Hadlea Home for so long, but I gather Teddy has agreed to escort Sophie.’

‘I don’t know how she managed to talk him into it,’ her ladyship said. ‘It is not something I would have expected of him.’

‘Why not?’ Sophie asked.

‘He might find the responsibility tedious. Besides, he is too young. You need someone mature enough to be aware of how a young lady should behave in society and to look out for all the pitfalls that might attend her, of being unknowingly lured into a situation that might reflect badly on her reputation, for instance.’

‘I know that and can look out for myself,’ Sophie insisted. ‘And I am sure Teddy knows it, too. Besides, Aunt Emmeline will chaperone me and see I meet the right people, won’t she?’

‘What do you think, Jane?’ their mother asked.

Jane was thoughtful. ‘I really don’t know. Have you spoken to Teddy about it?’

‘He has said he will do it, but of course there is the cost of a come-out.’

‘Money is not a problem.’ Mark spoke for the first time. ‘I will happily sponsor Sophie, but only if you and Sir Edward agree that she may go.’

‘Oh, Mark,’ Sophie said, eyes shining. ‘Would you really?’

‘Yes, if your parents say you may.’

‘That is more than generous of you, Mark,’ her ladyship said. ‘I suggest you find my husband and see what he says. You will find him in the library. Tell him I have ordered refreshments and would like him to join us.’

Mark rose and left them.

‘Oh, I can’t wait,’ Sophie said, hugging the child on her lap. He squirmed to be put down and she set him on the floor and he crawled rapidly to his mother, who picked him up.

‘It is not a foregone conclusion,’ Jane said. ‘There is Aunt Emmeline to consider. She may not be well enough to have you. I recall when we were there she tired easily and she is so very deaf. If she agrees to have you, you must be very mindful of that.’

A maid brought in the tea tray and set it down on a table at her ladyship’s elbow. She left the room as Sir Edward came in followed by Mark and Teddy, who was in riding coat and buckskin breeches, having just returned from a ride. ‘Excuse me, Mama,’ Teddy said. ‘I’ll go up and change. I won’t be long.’

‘Well?’ Sophie asked of her father. ‘May I go?’

He sighed as he sat on the sofa next to his wife. ‘It seems you have marshalled your forces very well, child. I have been outmanoeuvred.’

‘You mean, you agree?’ She jumped up and went over to put her arms about him and kiss his cheek. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, Papa.’

He gently disengaged her. ‘It is Mark you should thank. He tells me he has to go to London on business next month and will take you and Teddy in his carriage and see you safely to Lady Cartrose’s house. After that it will be up to your aunt and your brother to see you come to no harm.’

She turned to Mark. ‘Oh, you are the kindest, most generous of brothers-in-law. If I could find a husband like you, I should be well content.’

‘Sophie!’ admonished her ladyship.

Mark laughed to cover his embarrassment. ‘You will find the right man for you,’ he said. ‘Do not be too impatient.’

Teddy came back into the room, dressed more fittingly for a drawing room in a single-breasted tailcoat and light-coloured pantaloon trousers. ‘Is it decided?’ he asked, looking round the company.

‘Yes,’ his father said. ‘Provided you know what is expected of you.’

He found a seat and accepted a cup of tea from his mother. ‘Look after my little sister and see she don’t get into any mischief.’

‘Precisely. And keep out of mischief yourself. No gambling.’

‘What, none at all? That’s a bit hard on a fellow, ain’t it?’

‘In a social situation, it is permissible,’ his father said. ‘With counters or low stakes, and only if Sophie is being chaperoned by her aunt at the time. But no gambling hells.’

‘Of course, that is what I meant.’

‘Then, if Lady Cartrose agrees, you may take your sister to London at the convenience of Mark. Bessie will go with you.’ Bessie Sadler was her mother’s maid. She had been with the family many years, but was close to retirement and had been training a young successor. Apart from the family, no one knew Sophie better than she did and she would spot trouble before Aunt Emmeline or Teddy.

Sophie, always effusive, be it through happiness or misery, jumped up and ran to everyone to thank them. She was so happy, she had them all smiling, too. After that, they moved on to how the Hadlea Home for orphans was growing and, as always, was in need of more funds. It was one of Jane’s main tasks to secure those. Mark, with his standing and influential connections, was a great help to her in that and it was the reason he was going to town. He was in the course of arranging a concert to raise funds, an idea borrowed from the Foundling Hospital where they had been doing it for years.

* * *

Lady Cavenhurst wrote to Lady Cartrose and a reply soon arrived, saying her ladyship would be delighted to have Teddy and Sophie to stay. She did not often go out and about herself, but would undertake to introduce Sophie to friends who might invite her to join them for outings, if that would suffice. Sophie agreed that it would and her ladyship’s offer was accepted.

* * *

It was a month before they were to go and Sophie passed the time impatiently dreaming of what she would do, the outings and balls she would attend, the beaux she would meet and planning what she would take in the way of clothes. She was not short of garments, but when she came to review her wardrobe was cast down to think nothing was good enough for a come-out Season when it was absolutely essential she look her best at all times. Her day dresses were perfectly adequate for Norfolk but, in her view, useless for town and would do nothing but let the ton know that she was a country bumpkin. She did have one very fine gown that she had worn at Jane and Issie’s double wedding and an afternoon dress of blue crepe decorated with pale-blue-and-white embroidery that she had worn for Harry’s christening, but that was all. It was nowhere near enough.

Fortunately her sister came to her rescue before she could summon the courage to approach her papa with yet another request. ‘Mark is so generous,’ Jane told her one day when Sophie had walked over to Broadacres to bemoan the lack. ‘He is constantly encouraging me to buy new clothes. I have a wardrobe full of garments I shall never wear again. We can alter some to fit you and bring them right up to date.’

This was the next best thing to having a new wardrobe and they were soon busy with scissors, needle and thread, lace, ribbons and silk flowers. Jane was an expert needlewoman, and as one gown after another was transformed, Sophie lost her regret that she was not to have a completely new wardrobe. No one could possibly know they were not made especially for her and in the latest styles, too. Shoes, boots and slippers would have to be bought because Jane’s feet were larger than Sophie’s, but Sir Edward, thankful that his expenses would be no more than providing her with a little pin money, agreed to pay for those.

‘I have a little present for you,’ Jane said as if a wardrobe fit for a queen were not enough. ‘Wear this with your blue gown.’ She handed Sophie a small box. It contained a silver necklace studded with sapphires and diamonds. ‘It is just the right colour for it.’

‘Jane! It’s lovely, but should you really be giving it to me if Mark bought it for you?’

‘It was his idea, Sophie. When he saw the material I was working on, he said it would be just the thing. I have so much jewellery I can easily spare it.’

Sophie flung her arms around her sister. ‘Oh, that is so like Mark. Tell him thank you from me. I shall be the belle of the ball, thanks to you both.’

‘I hope you may but, Sophie, I must caution you to behave with decorum while you are with Aunt Emmeline. Too much pride will not help your cause. On the other hand, do not be too submissive. Remember you are a Cavenhurst.’

‘Oh, I will, dearest Jane.’

* * *

It was a very happy Sophie who said goodbye to her parents and Jane one morning at the end of May and climbed into Mark’s travelling coach. She was on her way at last. The only disappointing thing was the weather. It had turned bitterly cold and she had perforce to wear a warm coat over her new carriage dress and a fur muff to keep her hands warm, while her feet were set upon a hot brick wrapped in flannel.

The journey took two full days, but as the carriage was a very comfortable one and new horses had been ordered for the frequent stops along the way, where Mark also procured more hot bricks, the time passed agreeably.

They arrived in London in the evening of the second day, having spent the previous night at the Cross Keys in Saffron Walden. There were flags flying from all the public buildings and from some private houses, too, in honour of the birth of a princess to the Duchess of Kent on the twenty-fourth of May. In Sophie’s view that augured well for her visit. The city would be en fête. Mark sent his coachman on to his town house in South Audley Street and accompanied them into Lady Cartrose’s Mount Street home.

Her ladyship, rounder than ever and deafer than ever, greeted them warmly. ‘Welcome, child,’ she said, taking both Sophie’s hands and holding her at arm’s length to regard her from top to toe. ‘My, you are a pretty one. We shall have no trouble firing you off.’

Sophie giggled. ‘That sounds painful.’

She was obliged to repeat what she had said twice more before it was heard, and by then the repartee had lost its wit.

Emmeline turned to Teddy and subjected him to the same scrutiny. ‘I cannot remember the last time I saw you, young man. It must have been at your sisters’ weddings. What a happy occasion that was, to be sure. You are not affianced yet?’

‘No, Aunt.’

‘We shall have to see what we can do. I have many friends with beautiful daughters.’

‘I am not in town to find a bride, but to escort my sister,’ Teddy said, shouting into her ear.

‘Pshaw.’ She turned to Mark. ‘My lord, you are very welcome. How is my dear Jane? And little Harry? One day perhaps I shall have the pleasure of making his acquaintance. You will stay for supper, won’t you? Then you can tell me all about him.’

Mark declined supper, but agreed to take tea and spent most of the time answering her ladyship’s questions about Jane and their son. Sophie was impatient to know what they would be doing while she was in London and, in a break in the conversation, ventured, ‘What have you planned for tomorrow, Aunt Emmeline?’

‘I thought you might be a little tired after your journey, so have arranged nothing of import,’ her aunt replied. ‘A carriage ride in Hyde Park in the afternoon if you should care for it, provided it is not too cold, and supper at home.’

Sophie, who had expected a round of social engagements to begin as soon as she arrived, was cast down by this. It sounded as boring as being at home. Mark smiled at her. ‘Never mind, Sophie, you will be all the more ready to spring yourself upon the London scene the day after when you are fully rested. I have no doubt you will take the capital by storm.’

‘Storm,’ her ladyship repeated. ‘Oh, do not say there is to be a storm. We cannot go out in wet weather, it brings on my rheumatism.’

Mark patiently explained to the lady what he had meant while Teddy and Sophie tried not to laugh.

‘Oh, I understand,’ the old lady said. ‘I did not perfectly hear you. To be sure Sophie will shine. My friend Mrs Malthouse has a daughter of Sophie’s age. Cassandra is a dear, sweet girl and is coming out this year, too. I am sure you will be great friends. She is to have a come-out ball later in the Season and I have no doubt you will be invited. In the meantime there is to be a dancing party at the Rowlands’ next week, which is a suitable occasion for a young lady not yet out to practise her steps and no doubt Augusta will procure an invitation for you if I ask her.’

This sounded more like it, and Sophie thanked her aunt prettily and began mentally deciding what she would wear.

At this point, having agreed to dine with them the following evening, Mark took his leave, and as the evening was yet young, Teddy decided he would go out. Left to the company of her aunt and Margaret Lister, her aunt’s companion, Sophie decided to write to her parents and Jane, as she had promised, to tell them of her safe arrival. After that she went to bed to dream of the pleasures to come.

* * *

A few years before, the arrival of Adam Trent, Viscount Kimberley, in town would have caused a stir among the young single ladies of society and some married ones, too. He had been reputed to be the most handsome, the most well set-up young man to grace the clubs and drawing rooms of the capital for many a year. His arrival had sent all the debutantes’ mamas into a twitter of anxiety and rivalry and their daughters sighing after him and dreaming of being the one finally to catch him.

‘Twenty-eight and still single. How have you managed to resist wedlock so long?’ his cousin Mark had asked him.

‘Easily. I have never met the woman I would want to spend the rest of my days with and, besides, I’m too busy.’ At that time he had recently inherited his father’s title and estate at Saddleworth in Yorkshire, which had undoubtedly enhanced his attraction.

Then he had done the unpardonable thing in the eyes of the ton and married Anne Bamford, the daughter of a Saddleworth mill owner. Whether it was a love match or done to enhance his own wealth no one could be sure, but after that no one had much to say for him, thinking of him only as the one that got away.

His father-in-law had died soon after the wedding, leaving him in possession of Bamford Mill, and in the following year tragically his wife had died in childbirth along with his baby son, and he was once again single. To try to overcome his loss, he had thrown himself into his work, both at the mill and on his estate, which was considerable. He was rarely seen in London.

On this evening, he was striding down South Audley Street towards Piccadilly when he encountered his cousin. ‘Mark, by all that’s wonderful! Fancy meeting you.’

Mark, who had been negotiating a muddy puddle, looked up at the sound of his name. ‘Adam, good heavens! What are you doing in town?’

‘Urgent business or I would not have bothered.’

‘I was sorry to hear of your wife’s passing.’

‘Yes, a very sad time. The only way I could go on was to throw myself into work.’ This was a gross understatement of how he had felt, but he was not one to display emotion. It was easier to pretend he did not feel at all.

‘All work and no play is not good, you know. And you are no longer in mourning.’

‘Mourning is not something you can put a time limit on, Mark.’

‘No, of course not, clumsy of me. I beg your pardon.’

‘Granted. I was on my way to White’s. Do you care to join me?’

Mark agreed and they were soon seated over supper in that well-known establishment. ‘How is married life?’ Adam asked his cousin. ‘I am sorry I could not attend your wedding, but at the time I had only recently taken over the running of Bamford Mill and there was a great deal of resentment that had to be overcome. There was, and is, much unrest and I needed to persuade my people not to join the Blanketeers’ march.’

The march to London from the industrial north, which had been organised by the Lancashire weavers two years before, had been for the purpose of petitioning the Prince Regent over the desperate state of the textile industry and to protest over the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, which meant any so-called troublemakers could be imprisoned without charge. They had carried blankets, not only as a sign of their trade, but because they expected to be several days on the march. It had been broken up by the militia and its leaders imprisoned. None of the marchers had reached his goal and the petition was never presented.

‘Did you succeed?’

‘Unfortunately, no. I am afraid nothing will really satisfy them but having a say in their own destiny. I fear some dreadful calamity if they are not listened to.’

‘Surely not your people? You have the reputation of being a benign employer.’

‘I do my best, but that will not stop some of the hotheads persuading the rest that to stand apart will bring down retribution on their heads.’

‘What can you do to prevent it?’

‘I don’t know. I pay them more than the usual wage for the work they do and provide them with a good dinner, but that has brought censure from my peers that I am setting a bad example and will ruin all our businesses. I am in a cleft stick, but hoping to avert trouble by other means.’

‘Militia?’

‘No, that is a last resort. Innocent people are apt to get hurt when soldiers are let loose. I intend to speak in the Lords in the hope that the government will listen to reason and grant at least some of their demands.’

‘Do you think they will?’

‘I doubt it, but I must try. If I can rally enough men of good sense on my side, I might achieve something. Times are changing, Mark, and we must change, too, or go under. Ever since I inherited the mill, I have tried to put myself in the shoes of my workers. I have cut the hours of work of the children by half and have set aside a room as a schoolroom and employed a teacher, so the other half of their day is gainfully employed getting an education. Even that does not always go down well—some parents accuse me of giving their children ideas above their station. I answered that by trying to educate the adults, too. It incensed the other mill owners who fear giving the workers an education will make them even more rebellious.’

‘I would have thought that a man who can read and write would be a better and more efficient worker because of it.’

‘My argument exactly. Everyone should be able to better themselves.’ He paused. ‘But I believe you have been doing something similar.’

‘Ours is a home for orphans, but we have a schoolroom, too, and good teachers. It is my wife’s project more than mine, but I help out when I can. We started with only a handful of children, but there are so many of them now and more in need, we have to expand. I am in town to hire an architect for the project and to try to drum up more funds. Everything has become so dear, it is hard work to keep it all afloat.’

‘You are not wanting in the necessary, surely? I understood Broadacres to be a thriving estate.’

‘So it is, but Jane is determined to make the Hadlea Home stand on its own, and I indulge her wishes and help out in a roundabout way. Besides, it is incumbent on me to keep the estate prosperous for my son’s sake and laying out blunt for the orphans, which seems never-ending, will not help to achieve that.’

‘You are a father now, I collect.’

‘Yes, Harry is ten months old and the darling of his mother’s eye.’

‘And yours, too, I’ve no doubt. I lost my child, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know and I am sorry for you, but you will marry again and there will be other children.’

‘I doubt it. There can only be one Anne.’

‘That is true. We are all unique in our own way, loving and loved for different reasons. It doesn’t preclude a second wife.’

‘When she died, so painfully and so cruelly, I swore not to let it happen again.’ He paused, unwilling to dwell on his loss, which no one who had not experienced it could possibly understand, and wondering how to change the subject. ‘Shall we have a hand or two of whist?’

‘Not tonight, cousin. I brought my wife’s sister to London to stay with her aunt in Mount Street and have not yet been home to Wyndham House. The servants will be expecting me. Where do you stay?’

‘At Grillon’s. I have never felt the need of a town house when I am so rarely in town.’

‘Then stay at Wyndham House. You may come and go as you please while there.’

To have congenial company and a more-than-respectable address while doing what he had come to town to do would serve him very well, Adam decided. ‘Thank you. I shall be pleased to do so,’ he said.

They left the club, Mark to go home and alert his servants that a guest was expected and Adam to go to Grillon’s, settle his account and arrange for his manservant, Alfred Farley, to take his luggage to Wyndham House.


Chapter Two (#ulink_9966b396-fa59-5747-a0eb-876a870a6f1c)

Sophie woke the next day to find the sun was shining, though it was still cold. Bessie was busy about the room, finding warm clothes for her to wear. ‘Such weather for May,’ she said. ‘You would think it was winter, not the beginning of summer. Do you think you will be able to go out today?’

‘Yes, I am determined on it. If Aunt Emmeline cries off, I shall ask Teddy to take me. I did not come to London to sit about indoors.’

On Bessie’s insistence she put on a fine wool gown in a soft blue that was warmer than the figured muslin she had hoped to wear and went down to the breakfast room, where she ate a boiled egg with some bread and butter and drank a dish of hot chocolate in solitary splendour. Lady Cartrose was never an early riser, and when Sophie enquired of a servant if Mr Cavenhurst was up and about, she was told that he had not come back to the house until nearly dawn and was still abed. She was obliged to shift for herself.

* * *

After breakfast she wandered about the downstairs rooms getting in the way of the servants who were busy with housework that had to be done before their mistress put in an appearance. This inactivity was making her impatient and cross and she went up to her room to don a full-length pelisse, a velvet bonnet, walking shoes and a muff and went out into the garden. It was not a very big garden and she had soon seen all she wanted of it. The wider world beckoned.

There was a small gate at the end of the garden that led to the mews where her ladyship’s horses and carriage were kept and her groom lived. She walked past the stables and presently came out on to Park Lane. It was still early in the day, but the road was already very busy. Carriages and carts rumbled by, riders trotted towards the gate into the Park, walkers hurried about their business and children made their way to school accompanied by nursemaids. Three soldiers, colourful in their red jackets, gave her a lascivious look as they passed her on the way to their barracks. One even went so far as to sweep off his hat and bow to her. Haughtily, she put her chin in the air to pass him, and that was her undoing. She slipped on a patch of ice on a puddle and found herself flat on her back with her skirts up to her knees, displaying a well-turned ankle and several inches of shapely calf.

They immediately rushed to her aid. Despite her protests that she was unhurt and could rise unaided, one of them came behind her, bent to put his arms about her under her shoulders and heaved her to her feet.

She stood shaking, not so much with hurt or shock, but indignation that he could have manhandled her in such a way and seemed in no hurry to relinquish his hold of her. ‘Let me go,’ she said.

‘But you will fall again if you are not supported.’

‘Indeed, I will not. I am perfectly able to stand. I insist you release me.’

They might have let her go, but her hauteur made them want to have a game with her. ‘There’s gratitude for you,’ one of them said. ‘Did your mother never teach you manners?’

She did not answer, but repeated, ‘Let me go. I shall call the constable.’

‘Constable? I see no constable, do you, Jamie?’

‘Never a one,’ his companion concurred, picking up her bonnet from the road where it had fallen, putting it on his own head and prancing about in it. They had attracted quite a crowd, none of whom seemed inclined to interfere. Most were laughing.

‘You do realise that your fall broke the ice and your fine coat is wet and dirty. What will your mama say to that, I wonder?’ This from the one who held her firmly in his grasp.

She was well aware of the state of her coat; the cold and damp were penetrating through to her body. ‘Let me go, you great oaf.’ She struggled ineffectually to free herself. It only made him hold her more firmly.

‘Dear, dear, such language, but I take no offence at it, though I fear that if I let go, you would take another tumble and then, as you disdain my assistance, I should feel obliged to leave you sitting in the puddle. On the other hand, if you were to ask me prettily and give me a kiss as a reward, that might be a different matter.’

‘Certainly not.’ Her pride had given way to fear, though she endeavoured not to show it. No one had warned her of the perils of going out without an escort, or if they had, she had not listened, confident of being able to take care of herself. In Hadlea she thought nothing of walking about the village on her own, and no one would have dreamed of molesting her. The onlookers did nothing to help, being too busy laughing at the soldier who was wearing her bonnet and curtsying to them, pretending to hold out imaginary skirts.

She was fighting back angry tears when a gentleman pushed his way through and grabbed the soldier who held her and flung him aside. ‘Off with you, or your commanding officer will hear of this.’

Recognising the voice of authority when they heard it, they flung her bonnet down and fled, leaving Sophie to fall into the arms of her rescuer. He held her a moment to steady her before releasing her. His face had a weather-worn look of someone used to being out of doors and there were fine lines at the corners of his brown eyes, above which were well-defined brows. His hair, under a tall hat, was light brown and curled a little into the nape of his neck. He was stylishly but not extravagantly dressed, but none of that counted with her because he was endeavouring not to laugh, and that annoyed her. She felt obliged to thank him, but it was done in such a superior way, he could have no reason to think his assistance was any more than her due as a lady.

He picked up her bonnet and attempted to brush the mud off it, but it was ruined, and he simply handed it to her. ‘Have you far to go?’

‘Only to Mount Street.’

‘I will escort you there.’

‘That will not be necessary. I bid you good day.’ She walked away, her only purpose at that moment to return to the safety of her aunt’s garden and make up her mind how to explain the state of her clothing.

* * *

Thankfully her aunt and brother were still abed, so she was able to creep up to her room unseen. Bessie was there, unpacking the things from her trunk that had not been taken out the night before. ‘Mercy me, Miss Sophie, whatever happened to you?’ she asked, seeing the state of her young charge.

‘I slipped on the ice and fell into a puddle.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, except my pride.’

‘You had better take off those wet things before you catch cold.’ Bessie bustled about fetching clean clothes for her. ‘Where did this happen?’

‘On the way to the park. I had seen all there was to see of the garden, so I thought I would take a walk.’

‘Miss Sophie,’ Bessie said while busy helping Sophie out of her clothes, ‘you cannot, indeed you must not, go out on your own.’ The maid had been with the family so long, she felt at liberty to speak her mind to the young lady she had known since the day she was born. ‘This is London, not Hadlea. Anything could have happened. Did anyone see you?’

‘Only the people walking in the street, but I soon got up again and came home.’

‘No harm done, I suppose, but you should have come indoors and asked me to go with you, if there was no one else.’

‘I didn’t think of it. I have never had to do it before.’

‘Isn’t that just what I have been saying? What is permissible in Hadlea is not permissible or wise in London.’

‘You won’t tell my aunt, will you? It is too mortifying.’

‘No, of course I will not, but you must not do anything like it again. You could have twisted your ankle or broken your arm. It is fortunate that you did not.’

‘It was more humiliating than painful.’ Just how humiliating she was not prepared to divulge.

* * *

Her aunt came downstairs at noon to find her niece in the morning parlour with a novel by Miss Jane Austen in her lap, although she was not reading it but daydreaming. Not even Miss Austen’s elegant prose could hold her attention. She had never expected to be so bored. It was worse than being in Hadlea, where at least she could go out walking or riding or visit her sister.

‘When we have had nuncheon, we will go out in the carriage,’ her aunt said. ‘I must go to the library and change my book.’ She nodded towards the volume Sophie was holding. ‘Unless you want to read it.’

‘No, Aunt, I have already read it.’

‘Then to the library we will go and then we will call on my friend Mrs Malthouse in Hanover Square. Mr and Mrs Malthouse are very wealthy, but it makes no matter for I have often spoken of you and dear Jane and Issie and their husbands and how well up in the stirrups they are, so you do not need to feel in any way inferior.’

Sophie did not see why she should feel inferior and was tempted to say, ‘I do not’, but held her tongue.

* * *

Mrs Malthouse was even rounder than Aunt Emmeline, but in spite of that wore fussy clothes with a great many lace flounces and ribbons. Her daughter, Cassandra, was nothing like her mother, being tall and slim, with dark brown hair arranged in ringlets and a merry smile.

‘You remember me speaking of my sister’s family, do you not?’ Lady Cartrose explained to her friend. ‘Sophie is staying with me, but as you know, I seldom venture out in the evenings nowadays. Her brother is also with us and will escort her to whatever function has been arranged for her to attend. Everyone knows I do not go out so very often these days and I am wanting in invitations. I am come to appeal to you to help me out. I know Cassandra is engaged to attend the Rowlands’ dancing party and wondered if you might ask them to include Sophie in the invitation.’

Sophie disliked the way her aunt was begging on her behalf and would as lief forgo the dance as to be invited out of charity. ‘Aunt, we should not put Mrs Malthouse to the inconvenience,’ she said. ‘Doubtless there will be other invitations.’

‘It is a public subscription dance,’ Cassandra put in. ‘It is only being held at the Rowlands’ because they have a large ballroom. You have only to buy a ticket. I think it costs five guineas.’

‘That is a prodigious amount,’ Emmeline said.

‘It is so high as to keep out the undesirables,’ Mrs Malthouse put in. ‘And because it is to raise money for a suitable gift for the new princess. She is to be christened Alexandrina Victoria, though I believe she is to be known as Princess Victoria.’

‘In that case I shall naturally obtain tickets for Teddy and Sophie,’ Emmeline said. ‘I shall not go.’

‘If Sophie is in need of company,’ Mrs Malthouse added, ‘then she and her brother are welcome to join our party.’

‘Thank you, Augusta. I knew you would help,’ Emmeline said.

Sophie added her gratitude while wondering who was to pay for the tickets. The pin money she had been given would not stretch to it. Her aunt seemed unconcerned, so perhaps she expected Mark to put his hand in his pocket yet again, but Mark might judge ten guineas for two tickets a monstrous imposition and refuse to pay. It would be a bitter disappointment if she could not go.

‘Shall we take a turn in the garden?’ Cassandra suggested to Sophie. ‘We can leave Mama and Lady Cartrose to their gossip.’

She readily agreed and the two young ladies left the house by the conservatory. The sun had come out and chased off the frost, and the garden was secluded and sheltered. It was pleasant strolling about an immaculately tended garden and talking. ‘Have you been to London before?’ Cassandra asked her.

‘No, never, though my sisters have. They are older than me and both married. Jane is married to Lord Wyndham, and Isabel to Sir Andrew Ashton, who owns a fast clipper and takes her all over the world on it. My brother is in town with me. He is older than Issie and younger than Jane.’

‘Yes, I have heard Lady Cartrose talk of your sisters. Your father has a substantial estate in Norfolk, I believe.’

‘It is fairly extensive. It is mostly arable land and grazing. I have often heard Papa say the land is very fertile, but I know nothing of agriculture so cannot vouch for it.’

‘We don’t have a country estate. It is not that we could not afford it, but that Papa’s business as a top lawyer in constant demand keeps him in town all the year round and we would hardly ever use it. Sometimes I go and stay with my uncle and aunt in the country, but I miss the entertainments and the shops and meeting my friends, so I am always thankful to come back home.’

‘I can quite see that. I should, too, I am sure.’

‘You are very pretty and I do admire your dress,’ Cassandra said, looking at Sophie’s yellow sarcenet gown with its high waist and puffed sleeves, over which she was wearing a matching silk shawl. ‘It must have been made by the finest mantua maker.’

‘Indeed it was,’ Sophie said. ‘Just because I live in the country does not mean I am ignorant of fashion, or unable to procure the best.’ This was all dreadfully boastful and not exactly accurate, but she couldn’t bear to be thought of as a country yokel. Besides, Jane’s needlework was up to anything a London mantua maker could produce.

‘I am so pleased to hear it, Miss Cavenhurst. I can think of nothing worse than having to stint. We are fortunate not to have to think of it.’

Sophie had only intended to praise Jane’s work, but her aunt had already told everyone she was well connected and she felt she could not contradict her, so she let it go. ‘If we are to be friends, please call me Sophie.’

‘Of course we shall be friends, so Sophie it shall be. You may call me Cassie. Everyone does except Mama and Papa and my grandparents.’

‘Cassie, do you have a beau?’

‘No, Mama would never tolerate it before I come out, but this year I hope to find a husband. What about you? Do you expect to find one while you are in town?’

‘That is the idea of a Season, is it not?’

‘Indeed it is. Have you anyone in mind?’

‘No one. My brother says I am too particular, but I will not marry just for the sake of it. I have already turned down three offers.’

‘Three!’ exclaimed Cassandra. ‘You cannot mean it.’

‘Indeed, I do.’

‘Were they all handsome and rich? Did they have titles?’

‘One was handsome and tolerably rich, one was a baronet and one a lord, but none combined all the attributes I am looking for. The lord was a widower with two children. I have no wish to be a second wife. I had no difficulty in rejecting them.’ She was boasting again, although she had said nothing that was not true and was amused by the expression on Cassandra’s face, a mixture of shock and incredulity.

‘What manner of man are you looking for?’

‘The same as every other young lady, I expect. Handsome, rich and titled, but he must be kind, considerate and care about the things I care about, and he must of all things be wildly in love with me, as I must be with him.’

‘You and I think alike, Sophie. Let us hope we are not both vying for the same man, if such a man can be found who is single and looking for a wife.’

‘Tell me about the dance.’ Sophie felt they had exhausted the topic of future husbands and she was feeling a little guilty over her boastfulness. It was not at all how she felt inside. ‘What shall you wear?’

‘Mama will not allow colours until after I have my come-out later in the Season, so white it will have to be, but I can have a coloured sash and coloured ribbons in my hair. Which colour would suit me, do you think?’

Sophie stopped walking to turn towards her. ‘Green,’ she said. ‘Definitely green, it will enhance the colour of your eyes. And green slippers, of course.’

Cassandra clapped her hands. ‘Yes, I am sure Mama will allow that. What about you? You are very fair and have blue eyes, so perhaps blue for you. Or maybe pink. Do you like pink?’

‘It depends on the shade, but I like blue best. I have a lovely blue ball gown in my luggage and a rose-pink gauze evening gown.’

‘You mean the whole dress is coloured, not white?’

‘I hate white. It may look delightful on you, but it makes me look insipid.’

‘Will your aunt allow it?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘But you will be defying convention.’

‘Pooh to convention.’

Cassandra laughed. ‘Oh, I can see you are going to set the ton by the ears.’

Sophie joined in the laughter. ‘That is the whole idea.’ She paused. ‘The gowns shall be a secret until the night I wear them, so do not say anything of them to your mama.’

‘I won’t. Shall we go back indoors? Lady Cartrose will be taking her leave by now.’

They returned to the drawing room to find that Cassandra’s brother, Vincent, had arrived and their departure was delayed while Sophie was introduced to him.

He was very like Cassandra in looks, half a head taller than she was and rather too thin to be called handsome. He was dressed in a dark grey coat and lighter grey pantaloons. His neckcloth was extravagantly tied and his shirt points starched to a board. They certainly made him keep his head up. His dark hair was cut short and curled towards his face. He bowed to her and took her hand. ‘How do you do, Miss Cavenhurst. I am told that you will be gracing the Rowlands’ dance with us. I shall look forward to that.’

She withdrew her hand and smiled at him. ‘You are too kind.’

‘Come, Sophie,’ Emmeline said. ‘We have time for a turn around the park before going home. Lord Wyndham is to dine with us, so we shall have a little company this evening.’

They took their leave and, once they were seated in the barouche and trotting along Brook Street towards Park Lane, her aunt asked her what she thought of Cassandra.

‘I think we shall deal very well together,’ Sophie said, speaking very loudly into her aunt’s ear. ‘She already thinks of me as her friend.’

‘Good. That means you will have a companion for outings when I cannot go with you. What did you think of Vincent?’

‘I really did not think of him at all, Aunt. We met so briefly.’

‘He is an admirable young man, and though he does not have a title, he will come into a considerable fortune when he inherits. In the meantime he is employed in his father’s law firm.’

‘If he is anything like Teddy, he doesn’t do much work there.’ She was obliged to repeat this twice before her aunt comprehended.

‘You are unkind to your brother, Sophie. I collect he worked very hard when he was in India, for he made a fortune there, enough to get himself and your papa out of dun country by all accounts.’

‘Oh, yes, I will give him that, but as for law work, he hated being behind a desk all day. Now he helps Papa on the estate. Mr Malthouse has no estate.’

‘That is true. But Mr Vincent Malthouse is only the first of many young men you will meet in the course of the next few weeks. I am persuaded you will be able to choose whomever you please.’

Sophie was not so sure about that, considering she had so far only been engaged for a subscription dance. She needed more than that. She needed something happening every day and she needed to make an impression at every one of them.

They turned in at the park and followed a parade of carriages passing others going in the opposite direction. Lady Cartrose knew so many people and they were continually stopping for her to gossip and introduce Sophie. Sophie bowed her head and said, ‘How do you do?’ and answered politely when they enquired if she was enjoying her stay in London, but she doubted she would remember all their names. One rider she would not forget, though he did not stop. He simply rode slowly past them on the other side of the rail, and she concluded he was not known to her aunt, for which she was thankful. She was not sure whether he had seen and recognised her, but turned her head away to talk to Lady Cartrose. ‘It is lovely to see the trees bursting into leaf,’ she said. ‘It makes me think of summer.’

‘And let us hope it is better than last summer,’ her aunt answered, unaware of Sophie’s agitation.

‘There,’ the old lady said, as they turned out of the gate to go home. ‘Everyone knows you are in town now, and if they do not they very soon will.’

* * *

Mark arrived at six that evening to dine with them as promised. He was in a cheerful mood and listened attentively to Lady Cartrose’s recital of their afternoon. ‘There is to be a subscription ball to honour the new princess,’ she told him. ‘You have no objection to Sophie attending with Mr and Mrs Malthouse and their daughter, Cassandra, have you? They are very respectable people, well up in the ton. I know she should not be attending balls before her come-out, but this is not a formal ball and it is in a good cause.’

‘My lady, I can have no say in the matter, I am merely a bystander. It is for you and Sophie’s brother to say what she may and may not do.’

Lady Cartrose turned to Teddy. ‘Edward, what do you think? Shall you allow it?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ he said lazily. ‘What’s it all about, this ball?’

He had not been attending the conversation, and her ladyship was obliged to repeat what she had said to Mark. ‘It will be a very select dancing party,’ she explained. ‘The tickets are five guineas.’

‘Five guineas! Whoever heard of having to pay for an invitation to a dance? Sounds rummy to me.’

‘It is to raise money to buy the new royal baby a present,’ Sophie explained.

‘What does she want a present for? She’ll not be short of the dibs.’

‘Oh, Teddy, don’t be difficult,’ Sophie said. ‘I want to go. After all, it is why I came to London.’

‘To go to subscription dances?’

‘You know what I mean. You’re not going to deny me, are you?’

‘No, sis, we’ll go to your dance and I’ll buy the tickets. Will that satisfy you?’

The look that Mark shot her brother might have puzzled her if she had noticed it, but as she was turning a beaming smile on her sibling, she did not see it. ‘Oh, you are the best of brothers. Thank you. Thank you.’

‘Talking of raising money,’ Mark said, ‘I have been busy today finalising the arrangements for a concert to raise funds for the Hadlea Home extension. I hope you will all attend. It is to be at Wyndham House next Saturday. I have hired some excellent musicians.’

‘Do we have to pay to come to that, too?’ Teddy asked with a grin.

‘Donations are voluntary, of course,’ Mark said. ‘But since you seem to be in funds, I hope to see a contribution from you.’

This remark was so pointed, Sophie looked from one to the other. ‘What is going on?’

‘Nothing,’ Teddy said. ‘I do not always have pockets to let, you know.’

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I believe Papa gave you some money to top up my pin money should I need it.’

‘Quite right,’ he said, visibly relieved.

* * *

After they finished their meal, the two men did not linger long in the dining room, but joined Sophie and her aunt in the drawing room for tea, where the conversation centred around who might be present at the Rowlands’ dance. Mark pointed out that perhaps the elite might not wish to attend an event in which anyone could be present, but he supposed the high price of the tickets would keep out the riff-raff. He hoped the princess’s parents appreciated what was being done for their offspring.

‘How far down the line is she?’ Sophie asked.

‘Well, there’s the Prince Regent, then his brothers, all six of them,’ Mark said. ‘The new princess is presently the only legitimate child of any of them, but who is to say that won’t change, especially if the prince manages to divorce his wife and produce another child of his own.’

‘Who would want to marry him?’ Sophie said, with a shudder.

‘Almost anyone, I should think,’ Teddy said. ‘To be Queen of England must surely be a great lure.’

‘Well, I shouldn’t be lured by it.’

‘You are hardly likely to be given the opportunity,’ Teddy said. ‘You will have to satisfy yourself with a lesser title or perhaps none at all.’

‘It is not the title I’m concerned with, but the man.’

‘Well said, Sophie.’ Mark laughed. ‘Now I must take my leave. I have a cousin staying with me at Wyndham House and I have been shamefully neglecting him.’ He rose, bowed to Lady Cartrose and thanked her for her hospitality, kissed Sophie’s hand and was gone. This seemed to be the signal for Lady Cartrose to retire and left brother and sister to amuse themselves.

‘Which cousin can Mark mean?’ Sophie asked. ‘I collect there were several at his father’s funeral and at the wedding. I do not recall their names.’

‘No doubt we will find out when we go to the concert.’

‘Teddy,’ she said, ‘am I to rely on a concert that will be boring and attended by old people and dull married couples for some excitement?’

‘There is the Rowlands’ dance.’

‘But that’s a whole week away.’

‘What do you want me to do about it? I cannot conjure up excitement for you.’

‘You can take me riding. I do miss my daily rides in Hadlea. We could go to Hyde Park. That is where everyone goes, is it not?’

‘And what do we do for mounts?’

‘You can hire them. Jane made me a splendid habit in forest-green grosgrain taffeta and I can’t show it off if you will not take me riding, can I? You cannot expect Aunt Emmeline to do so.’

He laughed. ‘No, it would break the poor beast’s back, even supposing she could be got up on it.’

‘Then you will? Tomorrow morning early. You haven’t anything more pressing to do, have you?’

‘Oh, very well. But I had better go now and see about mounts, otherwise the good ones will be gone and we will be left with the rejects.’ He rose to leave her. ‘Don’t wait up for me.’

Left alone, she picked up her aunt’s latest library book, but it was not one that interested her and she decided to go early to bed so as to be up betimes the following morning.

* * *

Bessie had been unable to see anything improper about Sophie going riding with her brother and so she woke her early as instructed, bringing her breakfast on a tray. Afterwards she helped her into the riding habit. It had a very full skirt and a fitted jacket in military style with epaulettes and frogging. A white silk shirt, frilled at the neck and the wrist, and a black beaver with a curled brim and a tiny veil completed the ensemble. ‘There, Miss Sophie, you look a picture,’ she said. ‘But I hope you will ride sedately and not attempt to gallop.’

‘Oh, no, Bessie. I want to be seen at my best and that won’t happen if I dash off at a gallop, will it?’

She sat to put on her boots, then picked up her crop and went downstairs, expecting her brother to be already there. But he was not. Vexed with him, she sent a servant to wake him.

* * *

He came down half an hour later, dressed for riding.

‘Teddy, you are too bad. I have been waiting this age and you not even out of your bed.’

He yawned. ‘Sorry, sis, overslept.’

‘Why? What time did you go to bed?’

‘I disremember. Some time after midnight.’

‘Well, you are here now. Are you ready to go?’

‘Not until I’ve had some breakfast. You wouldn’t want a fellow to ride on an empty stomach, would you?’

She had to rein in her impatience while he ate, but she did think of sending a manservant to the mews to bring the horses round so that they might set off the minute Teddy had finished eating.

* * *

An hour and a half later than she had intended, they were riding through the gates of the park. It was too early for ladies in carriages, but the Row was full of riders, most of them men, but some were ladies riding with their escorts as she was doing. She was so pleased with life she beamed at everyone, turning now and again to speak excitedly to her brother. ‘Oh, this is capital. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and everyone is smiling.’

‘Of course everyone is smiling,’ he said. ‘You cut a very fine figure in that rig, even though I shouldn’t say it for making you more conceited than you are already.’

‘I am not conceited.’

‘Then stop grinning like a Cheshire cat. You are putting me to the blush. A little cool modesty, if you please.’

‘Oh, very well.’ She assumed a serious expression that was so comical it only served to make him laugh.

They were attracting the amused attention of other riders, one in particular. As they drew abreast, he bowed slightly towards her. She recognised him easily from the upright way he carried himself, the curl of his light brown hair, his brown eyes and strong mouth, twitching a little in amusement. She felt the colour flare in her face, but quickly brought herself under control and put her chin in the air and gathered up her reins to ride at a trot.

‘Who was that?’ Teddy asked, catching up with her after her unexpected burst of speed. ‘Someone you know?’

She slowed down again. ‘Who?’

‘The fellow on the bay. A magnificent creature.’

‘You call him a magnificent creature?’

‘The horse, silly, not the man, though I own he looks top of the trees to me. Who is he?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘But you smiled at him.’

‘I certainly did not. Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘He smiled back and bowed, as if he knew you. Is that why you wanted to come riding today, so that you might meet him?’

‘Certainly not. I have no idea who he is.’

‘Oh, I knew all that preening in front of everyone would cause trouble. Strange men smiling and bowing, it is not the thing, Sophie, really it is not.’

‘I couldn’t help him smiling at me, could I? I didn’t ask him to bow.’

‘You encouraged him.’

‘I did not. Why would I do that? He is conceited if he thought that, and if I ever meet him again I shall make sure he knows it. Not that I wish to meet him again,’ she added hastily.

‘No, of course not,’ he said with heavy irony.

‘Well, I don’t. Let us go home and see if Aunt Emmeline is up and about. I might prevail upon her to go shopping.’

‘Beats me what you ladies find to go shopping for,’ he murmured following her as she turned towards the gate. ‘You seem to have all the fripperies you need.’

‘Much you know about it,’ she said. ‘But you will find out when you marry and have a wife to please.’

‘Then I don’t think I’ll bother.’

She laughed at that, and they returned to Mount Street in good humour.

* * *

Adam, who had recognised her as the girl he had seen with the soldiers, rode on, wondering who she might be. She was unaccompanied by a duenna or a groom, probably out clandestinely, unless her parents or guardians, whoever they were, did not trouble themselves about propriety. She was lovely, and when she smiled or laughed her blue eyes sparkled. Out secretly with her swain and enjoying herself, he did not doubt, but devoid of all sense of decorum.

He had seen her the day before in a carriage with an older woman—a relation or guardian perhaps? Not a very protective one to let her out to be molested by common soldiers. He smiled at the memory; she was a feisty young lady, to be sure, and by no means cowed, even when her clothes were wet and muddy and she had lost her bonnet. He turned out of the gate and made his way back to South Audley Street. He had better put her from his mind; he had more important things to think of than a slip of a girl, however fetching. He had a speech to compose.

The foreman at the mill had warned him that Henry Hunt, known as Orator Hunt, was planning another great rally, but he had no idea where it was to be. He had a great deal of sympathy for the plight of the workers, who subsisted on very low wages that his fellow mill owners had no compunction in cutting when profits went down. Wages for a weaver, which had been as much as fifteen shillings for a six-day week in the boom year immediately after the war, had now dropped to five. Their hardship was not helped by the Corn Laws, which kept the price of wheat, and therefore bread, so high they were hard put to afford it.

Sir John Michaelson, a neighbouring mill owner, was particularly insensitive to his workers, many of whom had left him to come and work at Bamford Mill as soon as they heard he had a vacancy. It did not endear him to his neighbour, who’d come to him in high dudgeon the last time it had happened.

‘Look here,’ he had said. ‘You can’t go paying exorbitant wages. It gives the men a false value of their worth and makes them uncontrollable. You’re making them soft and undermining the rest of us. A little hunger never did them any harm. Makes ’em work harder.’

‘They are not just hungry, they are starving,’ Adam had answered, referring to Michaelson’s workforce. ‘Starving men cannot work well.’

‘So you feed ’em, too.’

‘If I give my workers a dinner, that is my affair, not yours, Sir John.’

‘If we don’t stand together, we won’t win,’ the man said truculently.

‘I have no doubt that is what the men are saying,’ he had said.

‘And you, no doubt, know exactly what they are saying. I am disgusted with you. You are a traitor to your heritage.’

* * *

Adam was soon back at Wyndham House and settled down in the library to write his speech. He was not a natural orator like Henry Hunt and had never made a public speech before, except to talk to his workers. He believed in keeping them informed of how the business was doing, telling them when a big contract had come their way and how long they had to fulfil it and congratulating them if they fulfilled it on time, paying them a bonus, as well. They worked the better for it. Now he had to make a speech to his peers, men who probably held the same views as Sir John and whom he had to persuade. He had covered several sheets of paper, all of which he had screwed up and thrown aside, when Mark came in.

‘You look as if you’ve been busy,’ his cousin commented.

‘All to no purpose. I can’t seem to find the right words.’

‘The words you used the other night sounded good to me.’

‘Two or three sentences when I have to write a whole speech. And my audience will be less sympathetic than you.’

‘Make your speech to me and I will act as devil’s advocate.’ Mark laughed. ‘I will even heckle you, if you like, and see how you deal with it.’

* * *

An hour later Adam was feeling a great deal better about the ordeal.

‘You are much more convincing when you speak from the heart,’ Mark told him. ‘You don’t need to write out the whole speech. Simple notes will suffice to get you going.’

‘Do you think I have a chance of swaying any of them?’

‘Those who are undecided, perhaps, but the diehards will be more difficult. You might have more luck in the Commons, if you could find a sympathetic member to take up the cudgels.’

‘I know neither of the members for Lancashire will do anything. They are in Sir John’s pocket. Two members of parliament for a whole populous county and two for a little place like Dunwich, which has all but disappeared into the German Ocean, is ridiculous. Parliamentary reform is long overdue.’

‘I agree, but you will hardly persuade the members for those rotten boroughs to give up their seats.’

‘Now, if workingmen could vote, that would be different,’ Adam went on. ‘And if they could also stand for election, we might have a more equitable means of governing the country.’

Mark laughed. ‘And that is what you advocate, is it? I advise you to take one step at a time, coz, if you don’t want to sink your whole argument. Now, you have done enough. I am hungry. What do you say to repairing to the club for something to eat? Then I will tell you my plans and you can advise me.’


Chapter Three (#ulink_c3ef1371-de15-5b1f-a3df-84f4f2bc9ac5)

Sophie decided she needed some ribbon for the evening gown she intended to wear for Mark’s concert. It was a rose-pink gauze worn over a white silk underdress. In her view it was too plain and needed a long ribbon tied in floating ends beneath the bust and to embellish the puffed sleeves. She had suggested as much to Jane when she was altering it, but her sister had said it was fine as it was. On the other hand, she really could not allow herself to be outshone by Cassandra. ‘You never know whom I shall meet,’ she said to Bessie. ‘Mark might contrive to introduce me to eligibles of his acquaintance. I wonder if his cousin will be there. He is staying at Wyndham House, you know.’

‘No, I did not know. Do you know the gentleman?’

‘I don’t know. I might have met him at my sisters’ wedding.’

‘He cannot have made much of an impression if you cannot remember him.’

‘I might if I knew his name, but Mark did not mention it when he told us a cousin was staying with him. I wonder if he is like Mark?’

‘So you are adding frippery to impress someone you do not know.’

‘Certainly not. I simply want to look my best. Wyndham House is quite grand, you know, and no doubt Mark’s friends are top of the trees. I know Cassandra will be showing herself off. I cannot be seen to lag behind.’

‘Has Lady Cartrose ordered the carriage this morning?’

‘Yes, but not for me. She is going to fulfil a long-standing engagement with some old friends and I am not required to go with her. Goodness knows where Teddy is. You will come with me, won’t you? We can walk.’

‘Yes, of course I will come.’

As soon as Lady Cartrose had left, Sophie and Bessie set out on foot for Bond Street. It was no longer so cold, but it had rained again and the streets were wet and muddy, and they were obliged to lift their skirts a little and watch carefully where they were putting their feet. Bessie would rather have postponed the outing, but Sophie would not hear of it. ‘Don’t be so poor-spirited, Bessie,’ she said. ‘It is not so bad.’

They were walking down the busy shopping street when a high-perch phaeton sped past them, spraying Sophie, who was walking a little ahead of Bessie, with filthy water. ‘Of all the inconsiderate muckworms,’ she said, staring after it, fury on every line of her face. ‘Now look at my gown. I shall have to go back and change.’ She was turning to go back the way they had come when she realised the vehicle had stopped and its driver was descending with the intention of coming back to them.

Bessie pulled on her arm. ‘Do not speak to him, I beg of you.’

‘Why not? I mean to tell him just what I think of him.’

It was only when he turned towards her and she could see his face that she recognised Sir Reginald Swayle, one of her erstwhile suitors. ‘Oh, lord, it’s that dandy, Reggie,’ she murmured.

He wore a double-breasted long-tailed coat in dark blue superfine, a flamboyantly tied cravat, yellow pantaloon trousers and a tall hat with a narrow brim, which he doffed on approaching her. ‘A thousand pardons, Miss Cavenhurst. If I had known it was you, I would have stopped and taken you up.’

‘Meaning, I suppose, that if it had been anyone else you would not have stopped at all,’ she said. ‘Very chivalrous of you, I am sure. It is too bad of you, sir. Driving like a lunatic down these busy streets is the height of folly and inconsiderate of pedestrians.’

‘I was not driving like a lunatic. And ladies should know better than to walk down streets wet after rain.’

‘Oh, so it is my fault my dress is ruined and instead of going shopping, I am now obliged to return to my aunt’s to change.’

‘No, I am not blaming you and I have said I am sorry. Allow me take you back to change your dress and then I will take you to buy a new one.’

‘That will not be necessary.’

‘Oh, but it is. Come, let me help you into my carriage.’

‘There is no room for my maid.’

‘She can walk.’

‘Don’t go, Miss Sophie, I beg of you,’ Bessie said. ‘If we walk quickly, we shall be back in Mount Street in no time.’

‘I don’t care to walk through the streets looking like a dish mop,’ Sophie told her. ‘It is not as if Reggie is a stranger.’

‘No, indeed,’ he said, offering her his arm to escort her to the carriage.

She took it, while addressing Bessie over her shoulder. ‘I will see you back at Cartrose House.’

He helped her up into the extraordinary vehicle, climbed up himself and picked up the reins. ‘I shall have to go a little farther along the road before I can turn round,’ he said. ‘But it should not cause more than a few minutes’ delay.’

She was sitting almost at first-floor level and had to admit, if only to herself, that it was exciting to be so high, looking down on lesser mortals. ‘When did you acquire this monstrous vehicle?’ she asked.

‘It is not monstrous. It is all the rage and it is fast.’

‘So I observed. Too fast for city streets.’

‘It cuts quite a dash in the park. I was on my way there. Should you like to try it? I cannot conveniently turn round before we reach Piccadilly and we would be almost at the park before we could turn up Park Lane. I collect your maid mentioned Mount Street.’

Unfamiliar with the side streets of the city, she accepted this explanation. ‘I do not think that would be altogether proper,’ she said. ‘And my dress is all muddy.’

‘No one can see it,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘The top half is not affected. You look very fetching.’

‘Is this a ploy to make me change my mind about turning down your proposal?’

‘Would it succeed?’

‘No. What are you doing in London? Did you hear that I was here?’

‘The doings of the Cavenhursts in Hadlea are an open book, my dear, but I cannot say it was my whole reason for coming. If I cannot have you, then I must settle for second best.’

‘Then I pity her. To be second best must be altogether too humiliating. If I were her, I would never agree to it.’

‘Oh, she would never know.’

‘Do you not think she might guess? I am sure I should.’

‘Perhaps it will not become necessary.’

‘No, you might fall genuinely in love.’

He laughed and manoeuvred the carriage through the park gates. ‘It is as easy to drive along here as it is up Park Lane,’ he said. ‘We can drive out through the Grosvenor Gate.’

She was becoming slightly alarmed that he might be trying to abduct her, but shook the idea from her thoughts. He was unlikely to do anything so outrageous in Hyde Park, where there were hundreds of people to whom she could appeal. The hundreds of people were the bigger problem. Her aunt had introduced her to so many friends and acquaintances on their carriage ride, she could not remember half of them. Supposing they saw her and recognised her? Sitting so high above everyone else, she could not fail to be seen. She had no chaperone and did not even have the protection of a parasol, for there had been no sun when they set out and she had not needed one. The only thing she could do was brave it out.

‘This is the most extraordinary vehicle,’ she said, turning towards him so that her face was turned from the occupants of a carriage then passing them. ‘I am not sure I feel altogether safe.’

‘Oh, it is safe enough in expert hands,’ he said. ‘Though if a greenhorn were to attempt to drive it, he might come to grief.’

‘And you, I collect, are an expert.’

‘Yes. Shall I show you?’ Instead of turning north to the next gate out into Park Lane, he turned down Rotten Row and set the horse to a trot, exposing them to yet more stares.

‘Reggie, I beg of you, don’t,’ she said, hanging on to the side of the carriage. ‘Please turn back and take me home.’

‘You are not afraid I shall overturn you, are you? I never knew you to be so chicken-livered. Come, Sophie, where is your spirit of adventure?’

‘It is not my spirit that is lacking,’ she said. ‘I am concerned that we are attracting attention.’

‘Admiring glances, what is wrong with that?’

‘You know perfectly well what is wrong with that, Reggie. You will quite ruin my reputation if you do not slow down to a sedate walk and turn round. Even then I fear it will not do.’

‘There is no room to turn round until we reach the end.’ Nevertheless he did slow the horses, though this had the effect of taking them longer to reach a turning point and longer for them to be seen and either admired or criticised. If she could have sank down on to the floor, she would have done. All she could do was pray no one would recognise her. In that she was to be disappointed and by the person she least hoped to see.

He was riding towards them on his bay and on coming level lifted his hat and bowed. He did not speak, but the amusement was evident in his brown eyes. She endeavoured to ignore him.

‘Who was that?’ Reggie asked as they passed him.

‘I have no idea, but it seems every time I go out, I encounter him. He is the most odious man.’

‘Top of the trees,’ he said. ‘I wonder how many cravats he ruined getting that one tied like that.’

‘I do not know and care even less.’

‘Tell me,’ he said changing the subject abruptly, ‘are you enjoying your Season? That is why you are in London, is it not?’

‘Yes, and I am enjoying it excessively.’

‘Ah, then, no doubt you have dozens of hopeful swains vying for your hand.’

‘Dozens,’ she agreed in the hope it might put him off.

He sighed as they reached a spot where he could turn round without colliding with other carriages. ‘So you like being admired and setting off one suitor against another. It is cruel of you, Sophie.’

‘I do not do it on purpose, Reggie.’

‘My trouble,’ he said regretfully, ‘is that you know me too well. I do not represent the excitement of conquest.’

‘Riding in this contraption is excitement enough, Reggie.’

They rode on in silence until they were once again in Park Lane and turning down Mount Street. She was never more thankful to reach the door of Cartrose House. He jumped down to help her out and it was then Teddy came out of the house.

‘There you are, Sophie. I was just coming to look for you. Bessie was in such a taking, nothing would satisfy her but I come out and search for you.’ He noticed Reggie and then the high-perch phaeton. ‘Hallo, Reggie. So this is the vehicle Bessie was so upset about. What is it like to drive?’

‘Easy enough when you know how,’ Reggie answered him. ‘You have to be careful not to take too tight a turn, but it can really go with the right cattle.’

Sophie left them talking and went indoors, where Bessie greeted her in floods of tears. ‘Where have you been, Miss Sophie? It don’t take but a few minutes to get from Bond Street to here in a carriage and you’ve been gone over an hour.’

‘Is it that long? Dear me, I had no idea. The high-perch phaeton needs a very wide turning circle, or so I was persuaded, and we had to drive down to Piccadilly and then to Hyde Park corner. And then Reggie decided to drive in the park.’ She was mounting the stairs as she spoke, followed by her worried maid.

‘Oh, Miss Sophie, how could you be so wanting in conduct as to allow that? Whatever would your mama and papa say?’

‘They will never know of it, Bessie. Now I must change. I fear it is too late to go looking for ribbons today. I shall have to go tomorrow.’

‘With Lady Cartrose, I hope, for I declare I could not endure another outing like today’s.’ She busied herself pouring water into the bowl on the nightstand for Sophie to wash her hands and face.

Sophie stripped off her muddy dress and went over to the nightstand. ‘Bessie, I have mud on my face!’ she exclaimed as she glanced in the mirror that hung above it. ‘How mortifying.’ Her thoughts went immediately to the strange, yet familiar, rider who’d had amusement written all over his face as he’d bowed to her.

‘Yes, but you would go off with Sir Reginald and did not give me time to point it out to you.’

Sophie dipped a cloth in the water and scrubbed at her cheek while Bessie rooted in the cupboard for a dress for Sophie to wear. ‘What about this green muslin?’

‘Yes, that will do. And, Bessie, you will not say anything to Lady Cartrose about this morning, will you?’

‘You may rely on me, Miss Sophie, but what if you were seen by some of her ladyship’s friends? It would not do for her to hear of it from one of those, for they will put the worst complexion on it.’

‘You think I should tell her?’

‘It would be best, then she will be forewarned and have her answer ready.’

‘Is she home?’

‘Not yet, for which I am thankful, for if she had been here while you were out, I do not know what I would have said to her. She would most likely have turned me off for allowing it.’

‘She can’t turn you off, Bessie. She does not employ you—my father does. And in any case, no blame can be attached to you for anything.’

‘I am glad you think so.’

* * *

Once more respectably dressed, Sophie went down to the drawing room to await the return of her aunt. Teddy was waiting for her, his long legs straddling the arm of the chair in which he sat. He righted himself on her entrance. ‘Racketing about on your own is not the thing, Sophie, not the thing at all. And as for accepting rides in high-perch phaetons, that is beyond anything. What can you have been thinking of?’

‘I only wanted to get home quickly to change my dress. It was either ride with Reggie or walk through the streets in a soaking wet dress that was clinging to my legs. It would have been too mortifying.’

‘That won’t fudge, Sophie. If you had had any sense, you would have gone into the nearest dress shop and bought a dress to come home in.’

‘I didn’t think of that and if I had I couldn’t have done it, I did not have enough money on me.’

‘You could have put it on account.’

‘Whose account? Yours? Aunt Emmeline’s? Mark’s?’

‘It would have done no good naming me, but Aunt Emmeline would have stood buff and certainly Mark would.’ He sighed. ‘It is too late now. The damage is done. Reggie wanted to buy you a new dress, but I dissuaded him. It would not do, you know, unless you were affianced to him.’

‘I am not completely devoid of sense, Teddy, and I am not affianced to him and never will be. You may rest assured I would certainly not accept a gift from him. And if no one saw me in the phaeton, then there is no damage done, is there?’ As she spoke the image of a smiling stranger with warm brown eyes flashed into her mind.

‘Let us hope you are right. I have Reggie’s word he will not speak of it. When Papa gave you into my care, I had no idea what an onerous task it would be. I beg you, Sophie, try not to get into any more scrapes.’

* * *

It was after dinner when Sophie and Lady Cartrose retired to the drawing room for tea that Sophie began diffidently to tell her aunt of the morning’s episode. It was a tortuous business, her aunt being so deaf she had to shout what she would rather have whispered in shame, but she got through it at last and waited for her aunt’s reaction.

‘To be sure I have seen those high-perch phaetons about,’ she said. ‘They look extremely dangerous to me. It is a wonder you were not upset and killed.’

Sophie had been expecting to have a peel rung over her. This calm acceptance that all that mattered was that she was not hurt took her by surprise. ‘You are not angry with me?’

‘No, child. I did far worse things when I was your age and it never did me any harm, but it is to be hoped the young gentleman will not boast of it.’

‘He has promised Teddy he would not. Teddy trusts him. They have been friends since their schooldays. That’s how I met him.’

‘Then, there is no more to be said. Thankfully I have no more engagements to take me out without you, so I will be able to accompany you in future. Tomorrow we will take one or two afternoon calls and we will shop and buy that ribbon you are so set on. We can play a hand or two of whist in the evening. Mr and Mrs Frederick Malthouse usually come to me on a Thursday evening and Margaret makes up a four, but she will forgo it so that you may take her place.’

‘But, Aunt, I do not excel at cards,’ Sophie protested. ‘In fact, I am the world’s worst at whist. Teddy is the card player in our family.’

Teddy joined them at this point and heard Sophie’s last remark. ‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I have forsworn gambling, as Sophie well knows.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Emmeline said, giving him a beaming smile. ‘But a little game among family and friends is perfectly in order. You may join us if Sophie does not care for it.’

He had a cup of tea with them and, hating the idea of spending the whole evening indoors with them struggling to converse, he made his excuses and took his leave. If Sophie wondered where he was off to, she dismissed it as none of her business, and she really had no right to haul him over the coals when her behaviour had hardly been exemplary.

* * *

‘Mark, you have been closeted in this room long enough,’ Adam said. ‘Leave all that paper and come out and have dinner with me at White’s.’

‘It is this concert,’ Mark said. ‘You have no idea how much preparation is involved. Musicians, singers, all of them temperamental in their demands, have to be appeased, the programme decided on and the order of all the items arranged so as not to offend any of them. Refreshments and the moving of the furniture must be organised, besides deciding how the donations are to be accepted, on a tray, in a bag, during the interval or at the end. That is, if I have any. If I don’t, it will all have been a dreadful waste of time and effort, not to say money, and Jane will be very disappointed.’

‘Don’t you have a secretary to do that sort of thing?’

‘I left him behind at Broadacres. I thought he would be more useful there.’

‘There is still a week to go, Mark. You can afford to take one evening off, surely? Who was it said to me, not two days ago, that all work and no play is not good for a man?’

Mark laughed and stood up. ‘You are right. Let us go out.’

They could have used Mark’s town carriage or hired chairs but decided to walk. The rain had gone, the night was fine and balmy and Mark said he needed some fresh air. ‘How have you been amusing yourself?’ he asked as they walked.

‘I would hardly call it amusement. I have been endeavouring to track down Henry Hunt to find out his intentions but no one will tell me where to find him. I think he is avoiding me.’

‘I am not surprised. You represent the enemy, the hated oppressors of the poor.’

‘But I do not.’

‘They don’t know that, do they? I am sure if you were to infiltrate his meetings you would be looked on as an agent provocateur and quickly bundled out of it.’

‘You are probably right. I shall have to rely on my speech. Perhaps after that, they will see I am on their side.’

‘How is the speech coming along?’

‘Slowly. I begin to wonder if I did right to come to London and might have fared better staying in Saddleworth.’

‘Well, you are here now, so you might as well enjoy your free time.’

Adam laughed. ‘And the same goes for you, cousin.’

‘Touché.’

They turned into the club and were soon seated in the dining room, giving an order for onion soup, turbot, roast partridges, raised mutton pie, broiled mushrooms and a selection of vegetables. They followed this with sweet pastries, clotted cream and a jelly. Once replete, they adjourned to the card room for a few hands of whist.

They played well together, not too deep but enough to satisfy the two gentlemen who made up the four, one of whom was Sir Reginald Swayle, known to Mark, and the other Captain Mountworthy, of the Hussars, on leave and looking for a little diversion. The captain, not being as well up in the stirrups as the other three, broke the party up a little after midnight, having come to the end of the stake he’d allowed himself. Adam and Mark both said they fancied an early night and rose to go.

They were about to pass two gentlemen who had just arrived when Adam heard his cousin address one of them. ‘Teddy, you here?’

‘Yes, you cannot expect me to sit listening all evening to Sophie trying to hold a conversation with Aunt Emmeline. I should die of boredom or laugh aloud and disgrace myself.’

Mark turned to Adam. ‘Adam, may I introduce my wife’s brother, Mr Edward Cavenhurst. Teddy, my cousin, Adam Trent, Viscount Kimberley.’

The two men shook hands, murmured, ‘How do you do?’ then Teddy, indicating his companion, said, ‘Do you know Captain Toby Moore?’

‘I do.’ Mark’s voice was clipped and made Adam turn to him in surprise. There was obviously no love lost between the two men. He shrugged his shoulders and followed his cousin, leaving Teddy and Captain Moore to make their way into the club. They heard Teddy greeting Sir Reginald with great affability as they made their way out of the building.

‘A young dandy,’ Adam said as they walked on. ‘You seemed not pleased to see him.’

‘Oh, I like him well enough, but he is too fond of the gaming tables. He is in town to escort his sister, not to indulge his weakness.’

‘His sister being the young lady you have recently left in the care of her aunt?’

‘Yes.’

‘I would have expected her parents to bring her to town.’

‘Lady Cavenhurst is a very poor traveller and Sir Edward much wrapped up in his estate, which is only now recovering from a near disaster two years ago—a disaster I might add, partially brought about by that rake shame, Captain Moore. I wonder at Teddy associating with him. I fear I shall have to keep an eye on him while I am here, though what I can do to stop him, I have no idea. Besides, I shall have to go home to Hadlea after the concert.’

‘You are not his keeper, Mark, and he is surely of an age to know what he is about.’

‘Gambling is an addiction with him, Adam. He has the best of intentions, but they fly away at the least temptation. I wish he had not come to town, but he was the only person who could escort Sophie, and Sophie was determined.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘When Sophie is determined, there is no gainsaying her. Being the youngest she has always been indulged, not only by her parents but by her brother and older sisters.’

‘She sounds like a spoiled filly to me.’

‘No, you mistake me. She is a charming young lady, if a little headstrong, which don’t signify to the young blades who crowd round her at Hadlea. Whether she will enjoy the same adoration in town, I cannot say. She will be at the concert, so you may be able to judge then.’

‘I shall look forward to being introduced to her and making up my own mind,’ Adam said.

* * *

He was busy in the meantime lobbying for support for the mill workers and the repeal of the Corn Laws, but found very few takers, certainly not among his peers. What he needed was support in the Commons, but even there, the rules for standing for that institution were such that very few of them could claim working-class roots. If only he could prevail upon the likes of Orator Hunt to compromise on their demands, he might have some success, but Hunt seemed to have gone to ground. He had asked Alfred Farley if he could winkle out his whereabouts.

Alfred might be a valet who looked after his clothes and brought him his shaving things of a morning, but he was more than that. He had been serving him since he had found him in a back alley in Seven Dials, half-starved and begging, four years before. Something about the man had made him take pity on him and he had learned he had once been a soldier and had served under Adam’s brother, but he had been discharged when he’d taken a piece of shrapnel from a cannonball in his leg. It had healed, but his leg was scarred and he walked with a limp. He was not an ideal valet, but he was a faithful servant and could be relied on in a crisis.

* * *

Adam had had to put all that aside in order to attend Mark’s concert. He could hardly fail to do so considering the house was in an uproar of preparation and Mark distracted. The house was large, airy and well furnished, if a little old-fashioned, not that such a thing would have put off his guests; the Wyndhams were known and respected in town as well as at Hadlea, and he did not for a moment share Mark’s doubts that no one would turn up. All was ready on the night, and after a light repast with Mark at six o’clock, he went up to his room to change.

He had long given up the exaggerated dress he had adopted in his youth and now favoured simplicity, but it was an elegant simplicity that set off his splendid physique and spoke volumes for his tailor, not to mention Farley, who had learned to make sure his cravats were starched to exactly the right stiffness, enough to maintain their folds, but not enough to cause him discomfort. Tonight he favoured a dark blue tailcoat in superfine that he had been assured was called midnight blue, matching pantaloons and a white brocade waistcoat with silver buttons. Never one to be fussy about his hair, which had a natural curl, he succumbed to Farley brushing it and combing into some semblance of style.

He could hear people arriving as he left his room to go down to the first floor, where he found his cousin standing sentinel at the ballroom door that had been furnished with a small stage and rows of chairs.

‘How goes it?’ Adam asked, standing beside him.

‘Well, I think. The chairs are filling up.’

‘So I should hope, considering you have the cream of the musical world to entertain everyone.’

They heard voices down in the hall as more guests arrived, and in a few moments, a party came up, led by a matronly woman in a hideous purple gown and a turban with a long feather, escorted by young Cavenhurst, but he hardly had eyes for them because they were accompanied by a young lady who caused him to catch his breath.

‘Lady Cartrose, how do you do,’ Mark said, while Adam endeavoured not to allow his twitching lips to become a broad grin. ‘May I present my cousin, Lord Kimberley.’

Pulling himself together, Adam bowed. ‘Your servant, my lady.’

‘And this is my sister-in-law, Miss Sophie Cavenhurst,’ Mark went on, unaware of the unspoken message going from Sophie to Adam, though that gentleman was fully cognisant of the appeal in her blue eyes.

‘Miss Cavenhurst, your obedient servant,’ he said, bowing.

There were more people coming up the stairs, and Mark was obliged to turn to greet them. ‘Adam, will you take Lady Cartrose and Miss Cavenhurst to find good seats before they are all taken up? I will join you later.’

‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ he said, offering them an arm each and smiling to himself when Sophie hesitated before taking it.

They found four seats in the middle of the room, and he found himself seated between Sophie and her aunt. He had a little time to study her while she perused the programme she had found on her chair. She was lovely, there was no doubting that, with her fresh complexion, fair curls and expressive blue eyes, which he could not see because she was determined not to look in his direction. He could hardly believe she was the same girl he had rescued from the soldiers, nor the one he had seen flaunting herself in that high-perch phaeton with that coxcomb, Sir Reginald Swayle. He hadn’t known his name at the time, only having been introduced to him at White’s.

‘Are you enjoying your stay in London?’ he asked her.

‘So far,’ she said, without looking at him.

‘Only so far?’

‘Well, one never knows what is around the corner, does one?’

‘No, nor whom one might meet,’ he added.

‘Very true, and sometimes they are not the people one would wish to meet.’

‘I am sorry if that has happened to you,’ he said, assuming she meant him. ‘But sometimes we find ourselves in situations where it cannot be avoided.’

‘Quite.’

There was a long silence after this. She was evidently not in the mood to explain herself and as the seats were filling up and the musicians tuning their instruments ready to begin, he gave up trying. Instead, he turned to Lady Cartrose, but as she could not hear what he was saying above the noise of the orchestra and people talking round them, he gave that up, too.

Mark came in to introduce the quartet that was going to provide the opening music and everyone ceased chatting and turned towards the front.

The seats were so close together, Adam was very aware of the girl beside him; he had only to lean a little sideways and their arms and heads would touch. She appeared engrossed in the music, but there was a tension in the air around her that told him she was not unmindful of his proximity. What was she thinking? Was she wishing him anywhere but where he was? He ought to reassure her he would not speak of the episode with the soldiers, or her indiscretion in riding in the phaeton; it would not be the action of a gentleman. But perhaps it would be better to remain silent.

* * *

Refreshments were served during the intermission and Adam had perforce to escort his uncommunicative ladies to the dining room, where they were joined by Mr and Mrs Malthouse and Cassandra, and Lord and Lady Martindale with Lucinda.

It was immediately apparent that Miss Sophie Cavenhurst was not normally taciturn, because she entered into a lively exchange with Cassandra and Lucinda about the merits of the music and the audience and their dress.

‘Your gown is exquisite,’ Cassandra said to Sophie. ‘Where did you find that lovely fabric? That green reminds me of sage shot through with silver.’

‘My sister found it for me. It might have come from India. Both my brother and brother-in-law spent some time out there. They may have brought it back.’

‘And the style is so elegant. Don’t you think so, my lord?’

Thus appealed to, Adam turned towards Sophie as if to study her sage-green gown, although he had already decided he had rarely seen anything so becoming. It was exquisitely made and fitted the young lady’s figure beautifully. ‘Most certainly,’ he said. ‘But your own gown, Miss Malthouse, is a match for it. It suits its wearer to perfection.’

Cassandra blushed crimson. ‘You are too kind, my lord.’

‘You must not leave Miss Martindale out of your praises,’ Sophie said, smiling at her old friend. ‘I think that pale pink is just right for her colouring.’

‘I had no intention of leaving the young lady out,’ he said. ‘You are all three beauties of the first order. I am at a loss to choose between you and you must therefore excuse me.’ He bowed to each in turn and made his escape.

He joined Mark, who was standing a little to one side, making sure everyone was being looked after, ready to send for more dishes of food as those on the table emptied.

‘You haven’t lost your touch, I see,’ Mark said, looking towards the trio. ‘Three young ladies hanging on your every word. I fancy there will be three handkerchiefs thrown down ere long.’

‘I shall not stoop to pick them up, Mark. I collect I told you, I have no intention of marrying again.’

* * *

‘I wonder how long he will be in town,’ Cassandra mused. ‘Do you think he will come to my ball if I invite him?’

‘Oh, so you are going to set your cap at him, are you?’ Sophie said.

‘Why not? He is not unhandsome and he has a title.’

‘And wealth,’ Lucinda put in.

‘How do you know that?’ Sophie demanded.

‘I asked Papa and he said he has a vast estate in Yorkshire and owns a woollen mill, as well.’

‘Yorkshire. I am sure I should never want to live there,’ Sophie said.

‘No doubt he would bring his wife to town as often as she wanted to come,’ Lucinda said.

‘You, too, Lucy?’ Sophie queried.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Both of you bowled over by a handsome face and a few compliments.’

‘Oh, so you are not, I suppose,’ Cassandra said.

‘Of course not. Anyone can learn to pay compliments. Besides he is too old and a widower and I will not play second fiddle to a dead wife.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Lucinda said.

‘What does it matter?’ Cassandra was not to be put off. ‘She can’t hurt anyone, can she? I am going to ask Mama to invite him to my come-out ball. He will be duty bound to stand up with me.’

‘Then, I wish you joy of him,’ Sophie said.

She knew she was being silly, but Viscount Kimberley disturbed her more than she was willing to admit. Her embarrassment at finding the man who had rescued her from the soldiers was her brother-in-law’s cousin was profound. She could not treat him like a stranger, could not dismiss the whole incident with a shrug of her shoulders, especially as he had afterwards seen her with Reggie in his phaeton. How much of that would he tell Mark? Mark might tell Jane and she would be fetched home in disgrace. If only tonight had been their first meeting, then she might have felt the same way as her two friends. She envied them. He was not laughing at them.




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