As Luck Would Have It (9 page)

“What’s so amusing, Your Grace?”

“It’s Alex, as well you know, and
you
, my dear Sophie, are very amusing. Or rather I should say, intriguing.”

“Oh?”

“Fishing for compliments, are we?”

“I have no idea what
you’re
doing, besides aggravating me, but
I
am trying to understand what the devil you’re laughing at.”

“Your language for one thing,” he chuckled. “Tsk, tsk, my dear, what if someone hears you? People are looking, you know.”

“Likely there are one or two ladies in the crowd who would be tempted to applaud, given that I’m swearing at you.”

“Oh now, more than two surely. My reputation as a rake is more impressive than that.”

She raised two mocking eyebrows. “You just
tsked
at me. I have serious doubts concerning your claim to rakedom.”

“I could rid you of those doubts if you like,” he said softly.

She downed the rest of her lemonade in two large gulps and handed him the empty glass. “That is generous of you, I’m sure, but I think it’s time you returned me to my chaper-one.”

“Are you certain?” He let his hand linger over hers when he took the glass and he watched, enthralled, when she bit her bottom lip nervously. “I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it, and I promise you’d enjoy the debate.”

He was practically purring at her and, God help her, she was more than a little tempted to take him up on his offer. She didn’t have a problem with kissing a man out of wedlock, not in theory. And she certainly wasn’t adverse to the idea of kissing a very attractive man. It was one of a dozen new experiences she had hoped to enjoy while visiting London.

She just didn’t want to kiss
him
.

She wasn’t entirely certain why that was. Her body was plainly enthusiastic about the idea. But she had the unsettling suspicion that Alex would view a kiss with her as something other than what she intended it to be. As if he had captured a prize. To Alex, it would signify a battle won, a challenge conquered, and the thought made her a little sick at heart. Enough so that she was able to squash the rising rebellion in that part of her brain that demanded she sneak off behind the nearest potted palm and listen to his argument, and instead, meet his laughing eyes squarely.

“My chaperone, if you please,” she insisted smartly.

Still laughing, he executed a smart bow and offered his elbow. “That, my dear, is what I find so intriguing. The warring of the outspoken world traveler with the proper British miss. I can hardly wait to see who will emerge the victor.”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile a little at his insight.

“I believe this battle goes to the British miss,” she said taking his arm.

“She does seem a formidable little general,” he admitted with exaggerated respect. “But my money is on the world traveler.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Not if I send in reinforcements.”

“In the form of…?”

He turned and winked at her. “Temptation.”

Lord Loudor lounged comfortably, if rather inelegantly, in a large dining chair in front of an enormous plate of food at his favorite club. Which, incidentally, was not White’s—an establishment where he sometimes enjoyed himself, but often only patronized because it was what a gentleman of his standing was expected to do.

He was at Barney’s, where the food, if not better, was a good deal cheaper. Where he could shrug off his waistcoat and loosen his cravat. And where he was always the highest-ranking member of nobility in attendance. Indeed, he was, as a general rule, the only member of nobility to grace the club with his presence. A circumstance that garnered a great deal of bowing and scraping by the employees, which was enough to set any man at ease.

He was not the only man, however, to receive such superior treatment this morning, or afternoon really since it was already well past one. Loudor made it a point never to rise before noon, and for his own convenience, he referred to the two hours following that momentous occasion as “the morning,” whether it be one in the afternoon or ten at night.

And so it was “this morning” when Loudor welcomed Lord Heransly to dine with him. Loudor had known the man since Oxford. He had never particularly liked him, but then Loudor didn’t particularly like anyone of his acquaintance, and the man was sometimes useful, so Loudor considered him a friend despite his personal feelings of distaste.

“Gad, man, what is this place?” Heransly pulled out a chair and sat, all the while eyeing their surroundings with disgust.

“Gentlemen’s club,” Loudor replied, or gurgled really, as his mouth was full.

“It’s a club, I’ll grant. I can see the game tables. But there’s a definite lack of gentlemen.”

“We’re here,” Loudor offered.

“Yes, and I’d like to know why exactly. Why wouldn’t you meet me at White’s?”

“Bloody sick of it,” Loudor grunted. “All those earls and dukes, each hell-bent on being more dignified than the next.” Loudor pulled a face at the thought.

“I was under the impression you aspired to those very ranks.”

“Just the trappings, Heransly, just the trappings.”

“Which brings me to the reason I wanted to meet with you,” Heransly said. “I’ve heard you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Rockeforte these last few days, and he’s been enjoying the company of your lovely young cousin.”

“What of it?”

“You know very well what,” Heransly snapped. “She can’t marry, Loudor.”

“You think Rockeforte’s likely to marry the chit?”

Heransly said nothing, so Loudor set down his fork and continued. “Said it yourself, my cousin’s a lovely girl, indeed. She’s also the daughter of a viscount and a bit of an original. Can’t keep the young bucks away from bait like that. Now Rockeforte, on the other hand…” Loudor let his sentence trail off dramatically.

Heransly almost bounded out of his chair. “You’ve enlisted Rockeforte? Are you mad! My father will—”

“Don’t be an ass. And keep your voice down. I don’t think anyone here gives a damn what you say, but the noise grates on my nerves. I couldn’t recruit Rockeforte if I tried. He’s a bit more fun than most of his ilk, I’ll grant, but he’s still too honorable for human tolerance. I don’t care how many women he’s managed to bed. I’ve merely made myself agreeable to his pursuit of Sophie,
after
he mentioned he had no intentions of marriage.”

“That would be a clever plan, if you hadn’t just expounded on how honorable the man is.”

Loudor waved the argument away. “I said he was honorable, not a eunuch. He wants the chit. Made it clear as day.”

“I know a little about Rockeforte. I don’t think he’s the type to bed an innocent.”

“Maybe he just wants to know he could.” Loudor shrugged and heaped a pile of food onto his fork. “Who cares? His very presence keeps the real threats at bay. He doesn’t like to share. And he certainly isn’t going to marry her. Made that clear too.”

“He won’t take kindly to having been manipulated,” Heransly pointed out uneasily.

“He won’t ever know.”

“He’s not an idiot.”

“In my experience, all men are idiots when it comes to lust.”

Heransly watched in disgust as Loudor crammed food into his mouth. “As I’m certain that experience is limited to you, I won’t argue the point.”

Eight

T
he Patton ball was, to Sophie’s mind, very nearly indistinguishable from Lord Calmaton’s affair. Right down to both hosts being on the list Mr. Smith had given her. There were too many people; a frightening number of candles; too much silk, jewelry, and food; and not nearly enough air. And God forgive her, but she loved every dazzling bit of it.

“Sophie! There you are!” Mirabelle battled her way through the surrounding crowd to reach Sophie’s side. “Heavens, what a crush,” she breathed.

Sophie gave her friend a bright smile. “It is, isn’t it?” Mirabelle smiled back, then, craning her neck to peer around Sophie’s shoulder, frowned and asked, “Where is your cousin?”

Sophie shrugged. “In the card room, I imagine.”

“Already? I didn’t realize the gentlemen began so early.”

“No doubt my cousin, in the distance between here and the doors, convinced a sufficient number of men to join him.”

Mirabelle twisted her mouth into a disapproving grimace. “I know he’s your family, Sophie, and I’m sure he has a great many fine qualities, but he really is an appallingly bad escort.”

Sophie sighed. “I know, and to be honest, his performance in the role of cousin has left something to be desired as well. But as you said, he is family.”

Mirabelle nodded sympathetically. “I have family like that. My uncle is a complete boor. Unfortunately, he is also my guardian.”

“That
is
unfortunate.”

“Isn’t it? I’m very lucky to have Lady Thurston. She’s been uncommonly kind to me since earliest childhood. She positively insists on sponsoring my seasons here in London.”

“I’d be willing to wager that she finds the endeavor no great sacrifice,” Sophie stated, watching Lady Thurston speak with a rather handsome older man, a pretty blush lighting her face.

“Which is precisely why I continue to agree to the arrangement, and also why I don’t feel particularly guilty about being a flop on the marriage mart.”

“Flop?” Sophie asked incredulously. “The night we met, you sat out only two dances that I saw.”

“Be that as it may, I am an acknowledged wallflower.” Mirabelle stated the fact quite pleasantly for one admitting to a social standing regarded only very slightly above that of the dreaded “spinster.”

“I find it difficult to reconcile my experience with your statement,” Sophie murmured thoughtfully.

“Do you see that girl over there?” Mirabelle began by way of explanation. “The blonde in the charming ivory dress absolutely drowning in young men?”

Mirabelle waited for Sophie’s nod before continuing. “Her name is Elizabeth Tellijohn and she is what’s known as a diamond of the first water. She is beautiful, accomplished, well connected, well behaved, and enormously dowered. Men dance with her because they want either to seduce her or marry her or both. Men dance with
me
because they
have
to, which is a situation I am quite pleased with.”

“You wouldn’t care to be married or seduced?” Sophie asked.

“By the right man I might, but if I had to go searching for him in a mess like that…” Mirabelle waved her hand in the general direction of the young men surrounding Miss Tellijohn. “I think I might go mad.”

“What’s wrong with those gentlemen?”

Mirabelle shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything.
I don’t know, I’ve only ever danced with one of them, so I couldn’t say with certainty. I do know, however, that it says a good deal about a man if he is only willing to dance with a woman like Miss Tellijohn and not with a wallflower.”

“I suppose that makes a kind of sense.”

“It makes every kind of sense.” Mirabelle paused for a moment in thought before continuing. “If ever you happen to find yourself in search of a husband—and I do hope you’re not offended, but I rather gathered you’re not at the moment—I suggest you look closely at the gentlemen who dance with the wallflowers.”

Sophie’s expression must have asked her question, because Mirabelle nodded and continued. “Men who dance with the least popular girls do so for one of two reasons. The first being that they are compassionate enough to realize that every young girl longs to dance, even if she is trying her utmost to appear disinterested. Those are the very best and sadly, rarest, of gentlemen. The second reason gentlemen dance with wallflowers is because their mothers have pressured them into that particular act of chivalry, and there is much to be said for a young gentleman who will dance with a wallflower just to please his mama.”

“And from which of these two groups do your bevy of admirers stem?” Sophie inquired. “For a self-described wallflower you seem remarkably in demand.”

Mirabelle laughed. “Oh indeed. I have the rather dubious distinction of being London’s most popular wallflower.”

“I hadn’t realized that was even an option.”

Mirabelle leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. “The trick, you see, is to be the least of all evils,” she said with a small smile. “My group comes from those who must dance to make their mothers happy. In my first season, I made a point to refrain from simpering, flirting, or stepping on toes. If possible, and it generally was, I made them laugh. In short, I helped them discharge their duty in the most pleasant manner
possible, and at the next ball when their mothers began demanding they dance with one of ‘those poor plain girls,’ they remembered that. In exchange for my efforts, I get to dance with some of the nicest gentlemen in the room and even have the pleasure of naming a few of them as friends.”

Sophie stared at her friend for a moment before shaking her head and smiling. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed with your cleverness, or horrified by your scheming.”

“Oh, impressed, without question.”

Sophie was denied a retort by the approach of an attractive young man who executed a proper, if somewhat uncomfortable, bow to Mirabelle.

“Miss Browning.”

“Mr. Abner. May I present Miss Sophie Everton?”

Sophie curtsied her hello.

“Miss Everton has just returned from extensive travel,” Mirabelle informed him. “Most recently from China.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Abner commented. “Excellent, excellent…. And are you enjoying your season in London?”

“Very much, thank you.” Sophie replied.

“Excellent.” He tugged once on his cravat, then seemed to think better of it and gripped his hands behind his back.

Mirabelle favored him with a kind smile “Mr. Abner is quite famous for his fencing skill.”

Mr. Abner beamed, shot a quick glance at a formidable-looking woman who was staring at him pointedly from several yards away, turned back and asked, “Miss Browning, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“I’d be delighted,” Mirabelle replied gracefully, taking his arm.