Courtship and Curses (18 page)

It was numbingly
dull
.

For one thing, conversation was careful and decorous. No one wanted to give offense to the Lady Patronesses and be denied a voucher in future, after all. For another, the narrow-eyed, unsmiling mamas and aunts ranged around the room in knots, gossiping about whose daughter might catch which eligible bachelor, were positively hair-raising. How had such an uncomfortable and uninteresting place become so important?

Aunt Isabel, on the other hand, was in her element. She glided majestically through the crowd on Papa’s arm, Sophie and Amélie following in her wake. While they’d waited on the pavement outside the house for Amélie to come down, Aunt Molly had suddenly claimed a sick headache, though she whispered to Sophie before they left that she had a great deal to do in the conservatory, putting down her sovereign anti-aphid mixture. Sophie wondered if the sick headache was a sham and the comte was coming to help her with the foul-smelling mixture of coffee grounds and cayenne pepper in olive oil. Then again, maybe not. It would hardly be a romantic occasion with that ghastly concoction around.

“Ah,” Aunt Isabel said. “There’s Lady Jersey. Come along, Sophie. You must be presented.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Sophie murmured. Where was Parthenope? She’d hoped to find her first and lay claim to a secluded corner to escape this very thing, but evidently luck was not going to be with her tonight.

“Do not just bare your teeth,
petite
.
Smile
,” Amélie admonished her softly as they approached “Queen” Sarah, Countess of Jersey, the all-but-anointed sovereign of Almack’s.

To her surprise, Lady Jersey was not in the least queenlike. She greeted Aunt Isabel with a certain amused glint in her eye, it was true, but received the rest of their courtesies with polite warmth. She was much younger than Sophie had expected and quite handsome.

“I like your cane,” Lady Jersey said forthrightly, nodding at the white and gold one she carried today. “I understand you’ve got them to match every outfit?”

“Thanks to Madame Carswell, I do.” Sophie smiled at Amélie.

“How clever! I’m sure you’ll not mind if I say this, Madame Carswell, but leave it to a Frenchwoman to come up with such an idea. Of course it’s a shame that you have to use them at all, Lady Sophie, but I do declare, it’s the perfect way to make the best of the situation. Such a pity you didn’t live fifty years ago! Canes were quite the favored accessory then, though for myself I expect the ladies carried them as weapons—the young men in those days were shockingly
louche
, if you know what I mean—quite dreadfully so! Not at all like dear Lord Woodbridge here—how do you do? And Lady Parnethope, too!”

Sophie turned as Parthenope and Lord Woodbridge joined them. “ParNEthope?” she mouthed.

“Don’t you dare laugh, you,” Parthenope muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she curtsied to Lady Jersey.

Fortunately that lady’s attention had been momentarily attracted by the musicians in the balcony. “Oh, they’re getting ready to play. A set must be forming. It’s such a shame you can’t dance, Lady Sophie, or I should certainly recommend Lord Woodbridge here as a partner. Have you been introduced?”

“We have, thank you,” Sophie replied demurely, looking at him. There was a faint sparkle of fun in his eyes as he bowed to her.

For a moment, Lady Jersey got a calculating look in her eyes. “Then in that case, Woodbridge, I’ll leave you to entertain Lady Sophie during this set. Dear Lord Lansell, might you care to escort Lady Dow and Madame Carswell to the card room? Now, I promised Maria I’d find a partner for her cousin. Come along, Lady Parnethope. I should like you to make a certain young man’s acquaintance.” Looking pleased that she’d arranged them all, she took Parthenope’s arm and neatly detached her from their group.

“Parnethope. I shall have to remember that,” Sophie said, watching them go. Parthenope cast an agonized look back at them over her shoulder.

Amélie chuckled. “
Méchante enfant!
She will be very cross if you do.” She took Papa’s arm. “I think Sophie and Lord Woodbridge will entertain each other quite
agréablement
. Shall we?”

“But—” Aunt Isabel looked indecisive as to whether she felt she ought to permit Sophie to remain talking unchaperoned with a young man, but Papa neatly captured her arm and led her firmly away.

Sophie glanced up and met Lord Woodbridge’s eyes. He was looking down at her with an expression that made her feel as if it had suddenly grown warm in the room. She looked quickly away and pretended to be scanning the dancers in the center of the room with great interest. “Oh, there’s Parthenope, dancing with—with—oh, dear.” She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

A grim-faced Parthenope was dancing with a young man—a very plump and spotty young man, perhaps at his very first adult social event—who barely reached her shoulder.

Lord Woodbridge flashed his cousin a brilliant smile and bowed. She ignored him. “Vanquished by Silence Jersey,” he said lightly.

“Silence?”

“It’s what everyone calls her, because she’s anything but. She takes it all in good part, though. Some people say she’s all sound and no substance, but I rather think there’s a great deal going on behind the chatter.”

If there was, she hadn’t used it as far as poor Parthenope was concerned. “I wonder if we’ll ever get her to Almack’s again this season. Poor thing, she looks unhappy.”

“Nonsense. It was about time someone managed her for a change, since she’s so fond of managing everyone else.”

Sophie felt herself flush slightly, remembering the conversation she’d heard between him and Parthenope. She looked around the room, hoping to think of something else to talk about, and her eyes fell upon a handsome but vaguely rumpled-looking young man standing alone, watching the dance. “Oh, look! It’s him,” she exclaimed.

“Who?”

“Over there—the young man standing on the other side of the room, by that pillar.”

“Where … oh, do you mean James Leland?”

“Yes! You’re acquainted with him, I believe you said?”

“We’re members of a few clubs together.”

Sophie gave him a measuring look as an idea came to her. “How would you like to try your hand at a little managing of your cousin?”

“With James Leland?” He thought about it for a moment. “You think that she has an interest in him?”

“Don’t you remember that she asked about him when we were riding together in Hyde Park?”

“Did she?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “It would give me great pleasure to manage Parthenope a little, but are you sure? I can’t see that asking about someone in the park means very much. Don’t you think she would have already done something about meeting him, if she were as interested as all that?”

“Of course not,” she replied promptly. “That wouldn’t do at all. Not in the least romantic.”

“Romantic?
Her?
” He snorted. “I’ve met Cockney coal merchants who are more romantic than my cousin.”

“On the contrary. I would say she’s extremely romantic,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t disagree. “Very well. What do you suggest?”

“Let’s go over and engage Mr. Leland in conversation, and make sure Parthenope sees us. When the dance is over, she’ll make her partner bring her to us, and then we shall undertake to make Mr. Leland dance with her. It shouldn’t be too hard, I hope.”

“Have you been taking managing lessons from her?” he asked, offering her his arm.

To Sophie’s delight, it worked just as she’d planned. Lord Woodbridge introduced her to Mr. Leland, whom she liked immediately for his gentle manners and kind eyes. She did her best to chat vivaciously with him, keeping an eye on Parthenope, and discovered that they were, in fact, distant cousins on her mother’s side.

Parthenope indeed saw them. As soon as the dance was over, she practically dragged her partner over to them, then neatly dismissed him … and stood silent and, Sophie was pleased to note, faintly pink-cheeked.

“Parthenope, only fancy! I have found a new cousin! May I make Mr. Leland known to you?” she said.

“A cousin—how … how interesting,” Parthenope murmured, curtsying. The pink in her cheeks surged into rose.

“Parthenope, you look a little overheated. Perhaps a glass of lemonade is in order,” Lord Woodbridge suggested. There was a note in his voice that could only be described as teasing.

Mr. Leland brightened. “I should be happy to escort you to the supper room,” he said, holding his arm out to her. “I’m sure we can find you something refreshing there.”

Parthenope gulped—actually
gulped
—and took his arm. “That would be most … most … I thank you, sir.” She paused only long enough to send Sophie a darkling look over her shoulder and mutter, “We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning, you. Expect me at half past ten.”

Sophie watched them go, managing to keep her face sober until they were at least ten paces away. Lord Woodbridge bent and murmured, “You terrify me, Lady Sophie. I don’t think Parthenope herself could have handled that better.”

“You are too kind,” she replied, matching his tone. “I must say that I begin to see why she enjoys it so much.”

“That’s even more terrifying.”

“Oh, pooh,” she said, imitating Parthenope’s characteristic expression. He laughed, and she joined him. There was a warm, intimate feeling in the shared laughter that she rather liked.

“There you are!” Lady Jersey materialized in front of them. “Your aunt was wondering where you were, Lady Sophie. I told her I should find you for her.”

Thank you
so
much, Aunt. “I’m very sorry you were put to such trouble, Lady Jersey.”

“Nonsense. I’m the one who said that Woodbridge should entertain you for the nonce.” She looked at them keenly and asked, “Or should I have pretended not to have been able to find you a little longer?”

Sophie felt herself blush. Lord Woodbridge held his arm out to her. “I’ll take you right to her, Lady Sophie. Excuse us, madam.” He bowed to Lady Jersey slightly and led Sophie away.

“But we don’t know where my aunt is,” Sophie said, pausing to turn back.

He gently urged her on, weaving through the milling crowd. “I know we don’t. Why do you think I hurried away from Silence so quickly? We shall be obliged to wander about for at least another quarter hour, looking for her.”

Sophie laughed, but underneath it, she felt a little jump of happiness. Things were changing between them, weren’t they? Maybe she was getting over her distrust of him after all. “In that case, I am quite sure she can’t be in the card room,” she said.

“Probably not. I should not be surprised if—”

Sophie stopped walking. Had she just heard someone nearby say “Lord Lansell”?

“Lady Sophie?” Lord Woodbridge looked concerned.

“I thought I heard…” She looked quickly around. It had sounded like a woman’s voice. Eavesdropping was, of course, an unpardonable breach of manners, but if someone was talking about Papa, she needed to hear what was being said, just in case. She released Lord Woodbridge’s arm and took an awkward couple of steps backward, straining to sort through the competing conversations around them.

“—she acting as hostess for him since Frances Lansell died? That seems odd,” a female voice, not the first she’d heard, said.

“What is it?” Lord Woodbridge followed after her, reaching for her elbow. “Are you well? Can I—”

“No, I—please.…” Without thinking, she grasped his arm with a quelling gesture.

“Why should she?” said the first voice. “She has her own household, after all. No, Molly is doing the honors, from what I hear. You do remember the dreadful business over her, don’t you, and what happened with Isabel?”

They weren’t talking about Papa, then. But oh, why did someone have to bring up gossip about Aunt Molly’s past now, just when it seemed like she might attain the happy outcome she’d missed as a young woman? She glanced warily around, but there were at least five nearby pairs of chatting ladies. It could be any of them.

“Hmm … was that when—no, that was someone else.…” said the second voice, which obviously didn’t remember but would be quite happy to be reminded.

“Molly Rosier was the younger sister,” said the first voice patiently. “She ruined it all for Isabel, of course, when she tried to run off with a Frenchman during the Revolution. They tried to hush it up, of course—old Lord Lansell was such the stickler and would never have let her marry him.”

“So how did that ruin anything for Lady Isabel?”

“My dear!” The first voice tittered. “Don’t you know who was paying court to her at the very same time?”

“Who?”

“Why, the Duke of Mowbray! He’d just come into the title the year before and was very full of himself—not that
that
has changed! He’d been quite attentive to Isabel all season, and according to my brother, betting was even in the betting book at Brooks’s that he’d propose by June. But once the business with Molly came to light, he dropped her like a stone. Couldn’t allow any breath of scandal to touch his sacred name, you know.”

“My goodness! That must have been a shock for her,” the second voice said, not unsympathetically.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. She disappeared from view for the rest of the season, supposedly because of a sprained ankle, and by autumn was engaged to Dow. Do you know”—the voice dropped slightly, so that Sophie had to strain to catch its next words—“some said she actually cared for Mowbray and was nursing a broken heart, not an ankle. She was certainly out of looks when I happened to see her once that summer, so it just might be true—she had been quite pretty. Fancy falling in love with that windbag! But I suppose he was good-looking enough back in those days—”

“Lady Sophie.” Someone touched her arm, and she jumped. Lord Woodbridge still stood there, looking at her quizzically. “Is there anything wrong?”

What could she say? “Pardon me, there was a conversation I had to eavesdrop on”? Certainly not … perhaps pretending nothing had happened would be best.

“Er, not at all,” she said, taking his proffered arm. She thought she heard the second voice say something, but Lord Woodbridge was already leading her away, and anyway, what more was there for her to hear?