Chapter Three

 

 

 

There was no mistake. The new arrival paused the doorway, the focus of every pair of female eyes in the room and Sophie’s horrified stare. She saw Venetia Lovell’s face light up with pleasure as moved across the room to meet the newcomer’s long-legged stride halfway.

‘Hal, dearest. Only half an hour late, my love, positively saintly by your standards!’

The Duke bent his dark head to kiss Venetia on the cheek and Sophie thought, with an inexplicable ache in her midriff, that they made a very handsome couple.

They turned so that Hal could greet his hostess and Venetia remained at his side, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of his deep blue coat. She had claimed him like that before, Sophie observed with something like envy, racking her brains to remember exactly who Mrs Lovell was. A widow – or not?

Sophie took a side-step behind Lavinia in the hope that would hide her from Hal. Why on earth was she feeling so discommoded? Her heart beat uncomfortably in her chest and she knew her colour had risen. In broad daylight Hal Wyatt was even more attractive than she had thought last night in the shadows of the conservatory. He could betray her to Lavinia with one careless look, a few words. That was why she felt so flustered.

As he bent his head to speak to Mrs Lovell she noticed the curl of crisp black hair at his nape and the broad set of his shoulders and her heart beat even faster. This is ridiculous. Sophie gave herself a little shake. Her life was not so barren that one brief encounter with a personable man reduced her to this state, surely? I must get out and about more, she resolved grimly, remembering again that giddy moment when she had first set eyes on Hal Wyatt and believed that she’d fallen in love. All I have to do is leave before he notices me and Lavinia discovers that I escape at night.

With relief she realised that Mrs Lovell was taking her leave. ‘Thank you so much for a delightful afternoon, Lady Cussons. I really should have left half an hour ago, so I can only be grateful that Weybourne’s lack of punctuality has allowed me more time in your company.’

The Duke turned from Lady Cussons just as Lavinia moved and Sophie realised with sudden panic that he must certainly see her – and just as certainly he would greet her, and it would all come out. He started to smile and Sophie did the only thing she could think of.

 

Dukes rarely, if ever, receive the cut direct and Hal had never been on the receiving end of quite such a comprehensive snub in his life. Miss Haydon’s expression of frozen hauteur and half-turned shoulder were as telling as if she had slapped his face. He felt the smile die on his lips and he turned abruptly, ushering Venetia briskly out of the salon and down the sweep of stairs to the hall.

‘Why not simply throw me over your shoulder and stride out instead of towing me down the stairs like that?’ she protested once he had handed her into his curricle. ‘I can quite understand anyone wanting to get out of that room, but my feet hardly touched the ground’

Hal gathered the reins up and guided the pair of matched Welsh bays out into the traffic of Mount Street before he answered her. ‘Have you any idea why Miss Haydon should cut me quite so comprehensively?’ he enquired.

‘Did she? I did not notice.’

Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of his cousin studying his profile with interest. Damnation. He caught the point of his whip in one hand, steadying the bays as he took the sharp left and right turn into Berkeley Square.

‘I was not aware you knew Miss Haydon. I find her charming. She is fresh and somewhat out of the common way.’

Hal knew her far too well to be fooled by her disingenuous tone. ‘Stop fishing, Venetia. Ask me in when we get to Albemarle Street and I will tell you all about Miss Haydon and my adventure last night.’

‘Oh good, an intrigue. What have you been up to, Hal? I thought last night you attended a blameless cultural event at Lady Newnham’s with Sydney. Are you telling me now that I have it wrong? Perhaps Lady Newnham is not as respectable as I had thought,’ she added mischievously.

‘Wait until we get inside,’ he said firmly, well aware of the tiger perched up behind. ‘Now, I need some advice about Elizabeth. She is driving me quite distracted.’

‘Well, she is seventeen now,’ Venetia remarked. ‘She is out of the schoolroom and you cannot continue to be the strict big brother for ever. You should let me bring her out as she has no mother to do it.’

‘She is far too wild yet,’ Hal said with a sigh. ‘I promised her that she could make her come-out next Season and I thought bringing her up to the villa I rented in Chelsea would answer for a month or two, but her governess cannot control her and I am certain she is up to something.’

‘If you take my advice, Hal, you’ll let her come and stay with me and I will take her shopping and introduce her to some other girls of her own age. Only let her get into the right circle and find her feet and she will soon settle down. Incarcerating her in Chelsea is not going to help, she is close enough to London to yearn to enjoy it, but far enough away not to be under your eye.’

‘I can see the merit in that,’ Hal agreed, somewhat doubtfully, but refused to be drawn on the matter of Miss Haydon until they were safely in the privacy of Venetia’s drawing room, a glass of Madeira at his elbow.

‘We were getting along famously when she took flight without so much as a by your leave,’ Hal finished. ‘We had just gone into the supper room, I went to fetch her a drink and when I returned she had vanished – and not so much as a glass slipper left behind her.’

Venetia snapped her fingers at the little King Charles spaniel sitting on his highly polished Hessians and regarded him with some suspicion. ‘So what did you do to Miss Haydon to deserve it? Have you been flirting? And do not try and look both injured and innocent. We have known each other since you were in small clothes and I am not going to be gulled by you.’

Freed of the weight of the dog on his feet, Hal stuck out his legs in front of him and smiled at her. ‘Very well, Cousin. I admit to being in a conservatory alone with Miss Haydon, I admit to tucking one very charming curl behind one equally charming ear, and, no, I did not kiss her. And, yes, I wish I had.’ Venetia tutted at him and he added, ‘No, I assure you. And our conversation consisted mainly of such topics as Brazil, herring and fungi.’

‘Herring?’ Venetia wrinkled her nose. ‘Hal, you must be losing your touch if you can spend time in a conservatory with a charming young lady and talk about herring.’

He grimaced in return then said ruminatively, ‘Yes, she is charming. And also somewhat mysterious – there is a secret there.’

‘Just what I thought,’ Venetia said triumphantly. ‘Now I know I am right if you think so too. And she needs rescuing from that ghastly dragon of a sister-in-law. I think – ’

Hal was spared Venetia’s thoughts on the subject of Lady Haydon when the door opened. ‘I thought I heard you, my dear. Afternoon, Weybourne, keeping my wife out of mischief, I hope?’

Venetia leapt to her feet, spilling an indignant lapdog on to the carpet, and threw her arms around as much of her husband as she could. ‘Charles, darling! How lovely you are home – I thought you were sitting on that dreary Bill in the House tonight. Hal and I have found a mystery, in fact, a mysterious young woman, and I have quite resolved to rescue her.’

Hal watched as Charles Lovell handed her back to her chair and went to stand with one arm along the mantelshelf and his foot on the fender from where he gazed with fond indulgence at his wife. In five years of marriage he had seen Charles being seduced, entertained, charmed and totally wound around Venetia’s finger and his friend clearly found the experience thoroughly pleasurable.

Hal found he was surprisingly jealous – not of Venetia as a wife, but of the happiness they shared.

‘Are you quite sure this young person wishes to be rescued, my dear?’ Lovell enquired mildly.

‘Charles, do not be stuffy. She needs rescuing whether she knows it or not. And Hal wants to rescue her too,’ she added, as if this clinched the matter.

Charles regarded Hal, who did his best to look innocent and was aware he was failing. ‘Oh, yes, indeed? And exactly what does Weybourne want to rescue her for, exactly?

Hal shook his head in mock protest, ‘Don’t look at me like that, Lovell, she knows perfectly well that I’m a rake – in fact she told me she knew I was and that she felt quite safe because she doubted that even a rake would attempt seduction in a conservatory.’

Lovell snorted. ‘Obviously the girl is a complete innocent if she thought that the scant cover of a few potted palms would save her virtue from you.’

‘Charles, really,’ Venetia scolded, apparently more put out by the slur on her cousin than the impropriety of her husband’s remark. ‘Now, listen, both of you, you know my Literary Evenings – ’

‘You mean your Thursday evening gossip sessions with your bosom friends?’

‘Charles, you are being tiresome, you know we discuss books.’

‘Yes, the most fashionable scandalous novel and the latest crim. cons.’

‘As if I would gossip about other people’s marital misdemeanours,’ she protested.

‘Everyone else does,’ Hal drawled, swinging his eyeglass idly to and fro.

‘You are getting off the point,’ Venetia said severely. ‘I have invited Miss Haydon to this Thursday’s gathering and her ghastly sister-in-law has agreed she may come. Only, I suspect, because she knows who grandpapa was. And then I will discover Miss Haydon’s secret and we can rescue her. Now, that is settled, we have done all we can until Thursday – Hal, are you staying for dinner?’

 

Sophie suppressed a sigh of relief as her brother’s carriage pulled up outside the Bruton Street house. She had just endured a long harangue from Lavinia about how favoured and fortunate she was that Mrs Lovell, granddaughter of a duke, had condescended to notice her, much less invite her to her home.

‘I can only hope that you do not let yourself or, more importantly, your brother down,’ her sister-in-law remarked as she swept into the drawing room, ignoring the fact that two footmen were in the hall and could hear everything she said. ‘I assume that Mrs Lovell has not heard anything about your... circumstances. You must be very, very careful to behave in such a way that no memory of the scandal is stirred in anyone.’ Almost to herself she added, ‘I wonder after all if I was wise to allow it, but it could open up such a useful connection for Grace and Charlotte.’

So that was it, Sophie thought bitterly as she went upstairs to remove her bonnet. She has not given me permission for myself, but in the hope that my acquaintance with Mrs Lovell will lead to introductions for my nieces.

Now that she had escaped Lavinia’s relentless stream of conversation she could think about the Duke and how she had snubbed him. It was an awful thing to have done – so rude – and quite the opposite of what she had wanted to do when she saw him. And now, even if she did see him again, he would never speak to her. How could he after such a comprehensive insult on top of her running away without a word the night before?

She sat in front of the dressing table mirror and gazed gloomily at her appearance. Not that any gentleman with a choice in the matter would look twice at her in a gown such as this. Mrs Lovell had looked quite stunning in jonquil twill with pretty slippers and gloves in amber kid. No wonder Hal Wyatt had been so pleased to see her, and had kissed her so charmingly.

What was the relationship between them? That sort of speculation was ill bred, showed signs of jealousy and an improper interest in the Duke, she chided herself. But none of that made any difference at all. Sophie looked cautiously out of the door, saw the landing was empty and tiptoed into Lavinia’s chamber. As she expected, the Peerage was on the night stand.

She flicked through the pages and found first Hal Wyatt, third Duke of Weybourne. She read his entry with close attention, then found Mrs Lovell. She was his cousin and they had probably been friends since childhood. Sophie felt quite unreasonably cheered and ran downstairs in an almost sunny mood to be greeted by the sound of Charlotte struggling her way through Mozart in the back sitting room. With a grimace at the flat notes, Sophie dutifully went in to turn the pages for her.

 

The anticipation of Thursday evening made the dreary routine of the intervening days seem endless. Mrs Lovell had said that the group was for ladies only, which meant that Sophie had no hope of meeting the Duke again – but that was a very good thing, she told herself firmly. Rigorous self-examination had assured her that the only reason that Hal Wyatt filled her thoughts by day and her dreams at night was because she led such a dull and restricted existence and knew no other gentlemen.

And leaving that aside, what place in her life could an acknowledged rake have? His protestations that he was reformed amused, but did not convince, her. He was doubtless surrounded by charming young ladies and sophisticated and willing married women. She was just a boring, dowdy country mouse from Hertfordshire who lived under a cloud.

 

By Thursday morning anticipation had given way to apprehension. Firstly Mrs Lovell had forgotten to tell Sophie what the group was going to be discussing so she had no opportunity to read the book beforehand. Secondly, her set was bound to be as well-dressed and fashionable as she was and not one of Sophie’s gowns could be regarded as even tolerable, especially for evening.

Sophie was gazing at them in the clothes press, trying to make a choice between hair-brown silk, which made her look washed out, or dove-grey twill, which resembled the second stage of mourning, when the door opened and Lavinia swept in, neglecting to knock as usual.

An almond-green silk gown was draped over her arm and she thrust it at Sophie. ‘Try this on. It was the one which arrived yesterday for Charlotte. I ordered it against my better judgment, but it will not do. I knew I should not have listened to her when she pleaded that she loved the colour. With her so blonde, she looks sickly in it.’

That was a more polite description than Charlotte’s papa had employed when he saw his daughter in it, as Sophie recalled. ‘Good gad, woman, she looks like a bilious sheep in that colour!’ he had declared in ringing tones, reducing Charlotte to tears.

But Sophie would look anything but sickly in it, she knew. She ran a finger reverentially over the soft silk, seeing the colour shimmer as the light fell on it. ‘Oh, Lavinia, it is beautiful, thank you so much.’

‘You should indeed be grateful. But this is an important connection for Grace and Charlotte and I would not have you make a poor impression on Mrs Lovell and her friends.’

Of course Lavinia’s motives in giving her this gown were not benevolent, how could she have thought otherwise? But for once Sophie did not care; she had a ravishingly pretty gown that would suit her and she was going out, by herself, in the carriage, to a real social event as the guest of someone she liked.

 

The almond-green silk was a great success, a perfect foil for her chestnut hair, which Fanny dressed with a charming simplicity to which even Lavinia could not object. Her mama’s pearl drops and single-string pearl necklace were unexceptionable for an unmarried lady of one and twenty and on her feet she was wearing her only pair of evening pumps, which fortunately went well with the new gown.

All in all, the short carriage journey from Bruton Street to Albemarle Street felt like those few evenings before the Great Disgrace when she had driven off to parties and dances at her come-out.

Mr Lovell’s butler took her wrap and showed her through to a salon blazing with an extravagance of candles where Mrs Lovell was surrounded by a chattering group of ladies. ‘Miss Haydon, ma’am.’

‘Good evening, Miss Haydon. How very charming you look. Now, do let me make you known to the rest of our group, they are all eager to meet you.’

Stepping into the room took all Sophie’s courage, but she relaxed as Venetia Lovell’s friends did indeed make her welcome. They were an unusual, even oddly assorted, group but Sophie soon realised that they were all united by enthusiasm and a strong sense of independence.

First there was a pair of veritable bluestockings who were describing their plans to set up house together in the village of Twickenham, ‘Away from the tyranny of men, my dear Miss Haydon. We shall write poetry, cultivate our garden, and possibly keep goats.’

Then there was a dashing young widow who had been left a considerable fortune by her elderly husband and who had only herself to consider. She was making plans to visit Italy just as soon as the Continent was considered calmer and was filling her time until then by acquiring Classical art and, she confessed, admiring young men. Sophie hoped to find a moment to talk to her about Italy, somewhere she had always wanted to see for herself.

Her hostess whisked her away and introduced her to three married ladies, two unmarried girls of about her own age and a middle-aged woman with inky fingers who was a best-selling novelist under a male pseudonym.

The literary discussion she had been expecting proved to be an exchange of somewhat racy novels hot off the presses, news of Lord Byron’s latest work The Siege of Corinth and a breathless account of the charms of a new poet, even more beautiful than George Byron himself by all accounts, who had been seen giving a reading by one of the married ladies.

The clocks were striking ten and Sophie was beginning to feel a little awkward, wondering how the evening was expected to end. The ladies had put down their books and the conversation had become very general, yet no one showed any inclination to leave. She had been too nervous to eat before she came out and was now feeling decidedly peckish and hoping that her tummy would not rumble.

The double doors swung open as, to her relief, the butler announced, ‘Supper is served in the Chinese room, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Spratte. Has anyone else arrived?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Several of the usual gentlemen are here already and I believe I heard another caller at the door as I came in.’