If you are lucky, you may engage the attention of Mr Gosport, though from what I have seen, he does seem to be tied to his mothers apron strings and disinclined to wed. I should not say it, of course, for Beth Gosport is my friend.
Sophie wondered why she had said it, unless it was to emphasise what a difficult task lay ahead in being able to suit the less important of her two charges.
I think we can safely take our leave now, Lady Fitzpatrick went on. It is polite to arrive a little late and leave early if one means to stamp ones superiority on to these little gatherings.
As his lordship has done, Sophie said, winking at Charlotte, a gesture which was lost on the shortsighted Lady Fitzpatrick or she would have earned another reproof.
God, Martin, is that what I have to do to find a wife? Id as lief forget the whole thing. I would, too, if it didnt mean falling into a worse case and having to marry Emily.
The two men were walking towards St Jamess Street, where they intended to spend the remainder of the evening at Whites.
Oh, it was not as bad as all that, his friend said, cheerfully, There was that little filly, Miss Roswell. Pretty little thing, blue eyes, blonde curls and curves in all the right places. And a considerable heiress, to boot. My mother told me the story.
I collect Lady Fitzpatrick saying something about a tragedy.
Yes. Her father, the second son of the second earl, married a Belgian lady and Miss Roswell was born and raised in Belgium
Really? She does not give the impression of a well-travelled young lady. I would have taken a wager that she has not stirred beyond the shores of England. More, I should have been inclined to say she had never come up to Town before.
How can you possibly tell?
The polish is lacking. She has a simple charm that is more in tune with country life.
That is good, surely? It fits in well with your criteria.
Does it? Richard turned to grin at him. And are you going to remind me of that whenever we meet and discuss one of the hopefuls?
Probably.
Then carry on. I might as well know the rest.
I believe her mother died some years ago. Her father brought her to England to stay with her uncle and his wife and then bought himself a commission and died in the Battle of Salamanca, a hero of that engagement, I am told. Her uncle, the Earl of Peterborough, adopted her.
What do we know of him?
Nothing out of the ordinary. He was a quiet gentlemen who stayed on his estate most of the time. I have heard nothing against him. On the contrary, he was well respected, even loved, on his home ground.
Go on.
Two years ago they were all travelling to London for Miss Roswells come-out when they were caught in a terrible storm; the horses took fright and the carriage turned over. Miss Roswell was the only survivor. Unmarried and seventeen years old, she inherited Madderlea. Quite a catch, my friend.
Then why is she being sponsored by that antidote, Lady Fitzpatrick? Are they related?
I do not think so.
Related to the country cousin, maybe?
I dont know that either. I suppose it is possible. Since the accident, Miss Roswell has lived with her cousin.
Miss Hundon, Richard murmured, finding himself remembering the feel of her small hand in his, the colour in her cheeks and the flash of fire in greeny-grey eyes which had looked straight into his, as if challenging him. She made him feel uncomfortable and he didnt know why.
Yes, but she is of no consequence, not out of the top drawer at all and must be discounted. Your grandfather would not entertain such a one.
No. So, I am to make a play for Miss Roswell, am I?
You could do a great deal worse. It was fortuitous that we went to my mothers soirée. Unless you make a push she will be snapped up.
I do not intend to make a push. I cannot be so cold-blooded. They had arrived at the door of the club and turned to enter. But if, on further acquaintance, I find myself growing fond of her
Oh, I forgot that love was an item on the list.
Richard laughed and punched him playfully on the arm.
Very well, I shall call on Lady Fitzpatrick tomorrow and suggest a carriage ride in the Park. And now, do you think we can forget the chits and concentrate on a few hands of cards?
Lady Fitzpatrick and the two young ladies were sitting in the parlour the following morning, discussing the previous evenings events, when the footman scratched at the door and, flinging it wide, announced in a voice which would have done justice to a drill sergeant, My lady, Lord Braybrooke wishes to know if you are at home.
Braybrooke? her ladyship queried, making Sophie wonder if she was losing her memory as well as her other faculties.
He was at the gathering last evening, Lady Fitzpatrick, Charlotte said. Surely you remember?
Oh, Braybrooke! To be sure. Rathbones grandson. Show him in, Lester. At once.
He disappeared and she turned to Charlotte. Who would have thought he would call so soon? He must have been singularly taken by you. Now, do not be too eager, nor too top-lofty either, my dear. Conduct yourself decorously and coolly. Fussily she patted her white curls and adjusted her cap, took several deep breaths and fixed a smile of welcome on her face, just as the footman returned.
Viscount Braybrooke, my lady.
Richard, dressed in buff coat, nankeen breeches and polished hessians, strode into the room and bowed over her hand. My lady.
Good morning, Lord Braybrooke. This is a singular pleasure. She waved a plump hand in the general direction of the girls. You remember Miss Roswell and Miss Hundon?
How could I forget such a trio of beauties, my lady? Quite the most brilliant stars in the firmament last evening. He turned and caught Sophies look of disdainful astonishment before she could manage to wipe it from her face and his own features broke into a grin. He was bamming them in such an obvious way, it made her furious, all the more so because Lady Fitzpatrick was simpering in pleasure and Charlottes cheeks were on fire with embarrassment. He plucked Charlottes hand from the folds of her muslin gown and raised it to his lips. Miss Roswell, your servant. I hope I see you well.
Quite well, thank you, my lord.
And, Miss Hundon, he said, turning to Sophie almost reluctantly, you are well?
Indeed, yes. He was having the same effect on her as he had had the previous evening. A nights sleep and time to consider her reaction had made not a jot of difference. He exuded masculine strength and confidence, so why act the dandy? Why pretend to be other than he was? This thought brought her to her senses with a jolt. She was acting too, wasnt she?
Lady Fitzpatrick indicated a chair. Please sit down, my lord.
Thank you. He flung up the tails of his frockcoat and folded his long length neatly into the chair.
Sophie watched in fascination as he engaged Lady Fitzpatrick in small talk. To begin with he was frequently obliged to repeat himself, but as soon as he realised her ladyship was hard of hearinga fact she would never admithe spoke more clearly, enunciating each word carefully, winning her over completely.
Sometimes he addressed his remarks to Charlotte, smiling at her and flattering her, but rarely turned to Sophie. She was glad of that. He was far too conceited for her taste and she sincerely hoped Charlotte would not be such a ninny as to fall for a bag of false charm.