Sophie's Halloo (15 page)

“Though I ought to write a sonnet

On your face, your eyes, your bonnet,

Citing queens or goddesses recalled to mind from ancient lore,

Still my muse can’t be relied on,

Simple words I’m now tongue-tied on,

Fearing to be thought a silly fool, a pest or crushing bore.

“For no words describe your beauty.

Birthday odes seem but a duty

When they try to take the place of gazing with adoring eyes.

Odes may laudify your meekness,

Ignorant of your uniqueness,

Sounding with a ring of falseness, something that I do despise.”

Sophie’s eyes had twinkled throughout his recital, but as the words of this verse sank in, she lowered her lashes and started to blush. And now, as he began the last verse, Tony’s voice slowed. He took her hand in his and turned it palm upwards, stroking it gently. She could feel strange waves of heat running through her as she listened to his final words.

“So though I ought to speak of Hestia,

Artemis and Hypermnestra,

Any thought of these beside you strikes me as a bit amiss.

My thoughts turn to Aphrodite

That through her you will invite me

To receive my heart’s desire, a tender, precious birthday kiss.”

Sophie’s head jerked up as she realized what he had said. A startled “oh” escaped her lips, and she was reminded suddenly of her flight up the inn stairs so many days ago. She had almost fallen under the spell of Tony’s soft words, but now as she looked at him, she saw that his lips were twitching and he was trying not to laugh. She half-suspected that his request was in earnest, but he could not help being amused by the shock on her face.

“A birthday—” Sophie did not finish the phrase. “And what, pray, is that, Sir Tony?”

His expression was at once innocent of any artifice. “A birthday kiss,” he repeated in a reasonable tone. “It is a tradition in my family. Is it not in yours?” A glint of humour danced about his eyes.

“No,” said Sophie, blushing again as he repeated the word kiss. “It is not,” she said, striving, to sound firmer than her inclination would have her be.

“Too bad,” said Tony, not daunted in the least. “In that case, do you care to oblige me?”

Sophie tried to glare at him ominously, but his impudence had robbed her of all control of her dimples. Nevertheless, she reminded him in a severe tone, “Sir Tony, I am not a member of your family.”

Tony responded with a mysterious sparkle that set her heart to fluttering. “No, you’re not,” he said softly, bending slowly towards her. “Not yet.”

Sophie waited, as though mesmerized, to meet his lips as they came towards hers. She closed her eyes dreamily and felt the warmth of Tony’s face as he stooped ever closer. But suddenly he jerked away as a voice came clearly from the doorway.

“Ah, here you are.” Sophie opened her eyes to see her mother emerging from the front door on the arm of Lord Holland. She felt as though she had been roughly awakened from a beautiful dream, and she looked about her wonderingly, surprised to find that she was still at Holland House. For the past many minutes, she had not been aware of her surroundings, only of Tony’s eyes upon her. She looked for him and saw that he had covered his own confusion admirably by stepping forward to meet Lady Corby and their host.

“I fear that Sophia and I must be returning to Town, Sir Tony.  Sir John will wonder what has become of us.”

“Are you not staying to dinner?” asked Lord Holland, seemingly with sincere disappointment.

“No,” said Tony. Then he added with an impudent grin, “We were not invited.”

Both Sophie and her mother turned to their host with shocked expressions, but that genial gentleman merely laughed in reply.

“Forgive me, Lady Corby and Miss Corby,” he said, as though he were the one at fault. “But Tony knows that it is not I who make the guest list. My dear wife takes care of all that,  and with Allen to carve my joint for me, I am well cared for. Let me say that I sincerely hope you will come again to see us and that next time it will be for dinner, as well.”

They bid him goodbye with sincere gratitude for his kindness to them and turned their steps homeward. The carriage was brought round, and Tony handed the ladies in, first Lady Corby and then Sophie. As their hands touched, Sophie was aware that she was still shaken by the feelings that had been aroused but a few minutes before. Tony’s eyes met hers unsmilingly as he helped her into her seat, but she fancied he was having as much difficulty swallowing as she was herself.

There was not much opportunity for conversation on the way home. Once, Lady Corby referred aloud to her surprise at the rather regal way in which Lady Holland ordered the affairs of her household, and Tony responded thusly. “Do not be amazed at it, Lady Corby.  All of Lord Holland’s friends know that she must do just as she does. If she did not, their house would be filled with more guests than they could feed every night of the week. Lord Holland’s congeniality knows no limits. But he is very happy.”

Lady Corby smiled in understanding as she turned to Sophie. “Well, he certainly is a most cordial host. We had a lovely time, did we not, Sophie?”

Sophie could only smile and nod her head, but her smile held a certain dreaminess that made her mother refrain from further questions for the remainder of their trip home.

CHAPTER TEN

Sophie awoke the next morning and stretched with a delicious feeling of anticipation. Her dreams the previous night had been sweetened by the memory of Tony’s scent and feel as he had leaned forward to kiss her under the arcades of Holland House. And her mind now was occupied with the pleasurable question of when and where that kiss would finally be consummated.

It had been weeks now since she had begun to think him the most handsome man of her acquaintance. The kindness and the laughter behind those clear blue eyes were surely what made him so attractive to her—and to everyone, she had no doubt. That he should interest himself in her was the only puzzle to Sophie, though she hoped he knew that in her he would find a partner quite willing to make him as happy as he so easily made her.

She got out of bed and prepared for the day, certain of its bringing her a delightful surprise and having no doubts that Tony would call. With a quickness to her movements that was totally unlike her, she dressed, paying special attention to the details of her toilet and directing the maid to select her most becoming morning gown. And as she dressed, she dreamed, though not in the vague, almost detached manner of the old Sophie, but with a lightness of heart that put a purpose in every move.

Downstairs, Sir John and Lady Corby were finishing their breakfast as their daughter arrived, her brown curls arranged becomingly about her face. Sir John had been telling Lady Corby about his successful expedition to Tattersall’s with the impressive news that his friend had paid one thousand guineas for the hunter at his urging, knowing the horse to be a rare gem.

As Sophie joined them, he had just finished the story, and her entry reminded him of the benevolent interest he had shown in their activities of the previous day. And with a sense of everything being right with the world, he greeted her with unaccustomed approval.

“You are looking fine this morning, Sophie. Your outing seems to have put colour in your cheeks.”

Sophie responded to his friendly overture with an even brighter glow. “Thank you, Papa. It was truly a wonderful day. Did Mama tell you that my poem was very kindly received at Holland House?”

She heard a strangling sound and looked up from her plate to find Sir John in a state approaching apoplexy. His face was purple, and the veins in his eyes were bulging. Her first thought was that he had choked upon a bite of food, but soon she realized that no blockage of air could produce the roar that came out of his mouth.

“Holland House! By God, Clarissa! What have you been about? You did not tell me you had been to Holland House!”

Lady Corby had turned white with fear, and Sophie knew suddenly that her mother had been trying to conceal the truth from him without asking for Sophie’s complicity.

“Did I not, John?” said Lady Corby with a weak attempt at innocence. “I am terribly sorry, but I had no idea that you would disapprove.”

“Disapprove!” roared Sir John. “Of course, I disapprove. Who took you there? How did you come to be invited? Certainly no one who calls himself a friend to John Corby would have taken you there.”

Lady Corby avoided a direct answer, but Sophie, with a sinking heart, realized that the truth would soon come. “I take full responsibility for it, Sir John,” her mother answered, “although I wonder at your degree of displeasure.” Her tone begged an explanation of his anger, but Sophie was not deceived. Her mother had obviously feared Sir John’s anger all along and had chosen simply not to heed it.

“You wonder?” Her father was almost speechless with incredulity. “You have entered the house of a divorced woman, taking our daughter with you, and you wonder at my displeasure?”

“But surely, my dear,” Lady Corby said, defending herself boldly, “it cannot be thought so very wrong if so many of the best people do the same. The Prince Regent was known to dine there in earlier years, and Lady Jersey herself does not disdain to call.” Her tone clearly implied which of the two was the more important visitor.

“But they are Whigs!” Sir John protested. “And I have heard it said in reliable circles that the Hollands sympathize with Bonaparte! Why, they are little better than traitors to the Crown.”

Lady Corby declined responding to these charges, knowing the sentiment to be justified to a certain extent, but Sir John took her silence as a protest.

“And if that were not enough,” he added in portentous tones, giving the final argument, “that woman ran out on Sir Godfrey Webster, a gentleman with whom I often rode in the field.” His tone implied the heresy of such a betrayal.

Lady Corby gathered her courage once more to dispute his final reason. “But, John, dear, everyone said that Sir Godfrey abused her terribly and spent all her fortune on his stud.”

“Nonsense,” he muttered with a growl.

“And she was married to him at the age of sixteen. He must have married her for her fortune,” she persisted, “which I understand he kept after the settlement.”

“That is neither here nor there,” Sir John said uncomfortably. “You are diverging from the issue. Who took you there?” he asked again, rallying on the attack.

Lady Corby remained silent, but an involuntary flicker of her eyes in Sophie’s direction, revealed all he wanted to know.

“Farnham, was it?” he said, raising his voice again. “I should have known. The fellow’s nothing better than a blue-coat! It’s no wonder he refuses to hunt when he’d have to sport a Whig’s colour.” He shook his head with the enormity of the offence.

Sophie listened with growing dismay. Her innocent revelation had destroyed her hopes for a delightful day and now signalled trouble ahead. She knew that her father did not look favourably upon Tony, but she had assumed that his anxiety to see her settled before the cubbing season began would outweigh any aversion he might have towards him.

Now she wondered if she should have taken his objections more seriously. There was nothing she could or would do to make Tony more acceptable to her father, but she had counted on Sir John’s indifference. Perhaps, she thought,  if Mr. Rollo were not so strongly to his liking, her father would not be so adamant in his dislike of Tony.

A moment more and her worst fears were realized.  Sir John had jumped with his customary impulsiveness to a drastic solution. “I will not allow it,” he said, striking the table with an open hand. “My daughter is not to be led to consort with Bonapartists and thistle whippers! From now on, there will be no more riding out with Sir Tony Farnham. He must not think that he can befoul Sophie’s reputation with questionable associations. And I want his calls to be limited in future. He has been allowed too great a degree of familiarity in this house, and it shall stop.” Sir John’s voice admitted no discussion.

And he was given none. Both Sophie and Lady Corby knew him far too well to argue when he was in a temper. Trusting, however, that time and indifference would soon soften his determination, Lady Corby merely acquiesced for the present. But Sophie, no longer wishing her breakfast, finished her meal with difficulty. She was torn between a desire to see Tony immediately and fear that he would call while her father was in such a temper. Her fear was lessened, though, when Sir John took leave of them for his club, grave disapproval in his countenance.

“I am sorry, my dear,” said Lady Corby, knowing when she saw the pain on Sophie’s face that her daughter’s heart had been touched for the first time. “But do not set too much store by it. Your father’s anger is never very long lasting. By tomorrow he will have something else on his mind, and eventually he will not think of Sir Tony so harshly. It is only a matter of time.”

Sophie smiled wanly. The question of time was not so small an issue to her now that every one of her senses longed to experience Tony. And, too, she worried that the time remaining to them in London would not be enough to resolve her father’s aversion to him.

As a way to take their minds off the scene at breakfast, Lady Corby suggested a trip to the subscription library, a suggestion which normally Sophie would have welcomed. But not today, for today certainly she could expect a call from Tony. Still, she could not tell her mother that she must stay home to receive his call without inviting uncomfortable questions, nor could she dissemble. So she agreed. And she consoled herself with the thought that he would call again and perhaps be better received when Sir John had had time to cool off.

Sophie would have been greatly alarmed to learn, however, that Sir John returned to the house in Berkeley Square just after noon to pick up a copy of the sporting journal he had left behind that morning. Finding the ladies gone, he decided to sit down and peruse it again before returning it to his friend Burnley. And he was so occupied when the bell rang and Tony entered the room.