Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (20 page)

“Did you not notice, Maria?” asked Sophie innocently. “Jane and David are busily convincing Society that she is a prettily behaved young lady and he is a man in love. Droll, is it not?” Since Lady Harroving appeared to be speechless, Sophie added, “Particularly as it is true.”

This caused Jane to color slightly as she snatched at the hope Sophie so casually offered.

Meanwhile, Lady Harroving turned brick red. “I wish you would not be so ridiculous, Sophie,” she snapped. “And take off that hat. It is quite unsuitable.”

“I like it,” said Sophie unrepentantly. “I think I will set a new style. It could go very well with a riding habit.”

“Indeed it would,” said Jane, hoping to turn the conversation.

“But would it attract Sir Edwin Hever?” asked Sophie. “If so I must forgo it. He is such a dreadful bore.”

“If you play the honeypot you must expect the bees,” said Jane.

“Wasps,” corrected her friend. “Sir Edwin is a wasp. He is actually going to ask David for permission to address me. Conceited prig! I told him it was pointless, and he went pale with affront. And, speaking of nasty insects, what will Mr. Carruthers think of your exploits?”

Jane feigned ignorance. “Whatever can you mean?”

“I am sure the poor man believes he is going to sip your nectar,” replied Sophie with a naughty twinkle.

“Sophie, you go too far!” exclaimed Lady Harroving.

Receiving neither acknowledgement nor repentance she swept out of the room.

“Poor Maria,” said Sophie sweetly. “She must be between lovers.”

“Sophie!” exclaimed Jane.

Sophie merely grinned. “I am not sure she has had a beau since The Middlehouse.”

“Sophie, you really should not speak of such things. What is the matter? I have never known you so outrageous before.”

“But then you do not know me very well,” said Sophie rudely. “Maria goes from one lover to another. Sir Marius was her lover at The Middlehouse. My maid told me. I am sure she has had all the other men as well—Verderan, Lord Randal, probably even David.”

“No.” Jane’s denial was emphatic.

Sophie glared at her. “What of Phoebe Danvers then?”

Jane made the effort to meet the other girl’s eyes and could see beyond the shocking talk to the hurt beneath.

“It is not unusual for men to behave so, though in truth I scarcely know what such behavior involves.”

“Shall I tell you?” said Sophie nastily.

“No,” replied Jane. “I would rather you tell me what is bothering you. You act as if your heart were breaking.”

Tell me, Sophie, she pleaded silently, and we can discuss this. But Sophie just stood there as tears rolled down her cheeks, then dashed them angrily away and summoned a smile.

“I apologize. I have been hateful. It is just that you are to be happy, and so many people are falling in love. What is for me?”

Jane hugged her. “You have more suitors than can be counted.”

“But not the one I want.”

Sophie broke away and wandered over to a plate of cakes to study them. Jane watched amazed. How could Sophie become suddenly so interested in food? She picked out two cakes and turned with them in her hands. One was covered in blue icing, the exact color of her own dress. The other was a yellow sponge very like the color of Jane’s muslin with a topping of chocolate cream.

“Behold,” said Sophie with a bitter smile, “how we all make cakes of ourselves!” She crumbled them both onto the carpet, then dusting off her hands, walked briskly from the room.

For the first time Jane was seriously concerned about her friend’s sanity. She recalled all she had learned since coming to London of the affairs of Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Melbourne. They had entertained the ton the year before with a public and passionate entanglement which had left the lady, so it was said, mad when Lord Byron rejected her and turned to Miss Annabella Mil banke for consolation.

Was Jane wrong to detect some similarity between Sophie and the wild Lady Caroline? But then, Lord Randal was no Byron. Jane had met the poet, and, though his work was brilliant and he was very handsome, he seemed himself to be a most unstable character. Besides, Lord Randal was not encouraging Sophie’s infatuation. Was he even aware of it? Jane pondered this thought and decided he couldn’t be. He was too kind to torment Sophie by his teasing if he knew how she felt. Jane wished she had the courage to tell him. Marriage between Sophie and Lord Randal was so impossible, it would be better he left her to form other attachments.

The two maids came in just then to clear the room and exclaimed at the pile of crumbs in the middle of the carpet. Jane only sighed and left to follow Sophie upstairs.

A
s JANE ANTICIPATED her evening with her betrothed, her sense of disquiet disappeared. The mere thought of his company set her nerves tingling in a most delightful way. Despite her moment of jealousy the night before, she now realized she had nothing to fear. He was now hers alone, even if there had been another woman for a while. Sophie had spoken the truth, or close to it. He might not yet love his bride-to-be, but he was far from indifferent. Though inexperienced, Jane recognized a strong and genuine feeling in him.

Lady Harroving had been happy enough for them all to cancel their engagements that evening, for there was nothing special arranged. Sophie had been reluctant but eventually agreed to accompany her brother and Jane and was in good spirits as the coach rolled through the dusky streets into a quieter part of town, very like Clarke Street. Jane had a moment’s alarm as she wondered what she would do if Lord Wraybourne introduced her to that woman, then told herself he would do nothing so ill-bred.

Lord Wraybourne explained they were to visit Peter Medcalf, a composer and musician, who held open house for his friends and patrons every Friday. When David saw Sophie pull a face, he laughed.

“You will enjoy yourself, Sophie. There are all kinds of people. The food is excellent, and there are cards for those who do not wish to attend to the music. It is time you met true artists instead of pretentious appreciators and boring teachers.”

Certainly, the noisy, vibrant house they entered was very unlike the hushed reverence of some musical
soirées
. People were talking and laughing and calling across the room for comments. The trio which played in one corner could not be heard but obviously did not care, as they were stopping and starting and trying out something new. A tall, ruddy man surged forward to wring Lord Wraybourne’s hand.

“David, my dear friend! It has been too long. And whom have you brought? One of these beauties must be your bride-to-be. At least, I hope so or you are a rogue, Sir!” His bright eyes scanned them both and then he said, “I can detect your sister. The resemblance is remarkable. Welcome Lady Sophie! So this must be Miss Sandiford. An honor to meet you, my dear.”

With a broad smile, David introduced the young ladies to their host, who promptly appropriated them both, one on each arm.

“Go away, Wraybourne. You have these two beauties every day and must now share them for a few moments at least.”

Lord Wraybourne obeyed and was quickly absorbed into a welcoming group.

The musician turned to Jane and Sophie. “Do you like music, my dears? No, that is a silly question. Everyone likes music. What kind of music do you like best?”

Sophie raised her chin. “I do not like music very much. It is all right in the background, but I can do without it well enough.” She smiled up at him, but with a challenge in her eyes.

“Ha! Ruined by a bad teacher. I can detect the signs. You will see, young lady. I will convert you. And you, Miss Sandiford?”

“I like music very much, Mr. Medcalf, particularly symphonies with very large orchestras, for I have heard them so rarely.”

“Ah, yes! The vibration seems to shake the bones. Now, I have someone I wish to introduce to you. I am sure you will be pleased.”

With gentle pushes and a word here and there he eased them across the room to where a tubby little man was talking animatedly to a small group.

“Ah, Lane,” exclaimed Mr. Medcalf. “Here I have some admirers, I am sure. Young ladies, may I present Mr. William Lane of the Minerva Press. Mr. Lane. Lady Sophie Kyle and Miss Jane Sandiford.”

In a moment Medcalf was gone off to greet other new-comers, and Jane and Sophie were happy to be left in the company of the publisher of their favorite books. They were soon privy to a list of upcoming titles. Sophie was resolved to order
Subterranean Horrors
while Jane felt drawn to a novel entitled
Bewildered Affections.

All too soon, Lord Wraybourne collected them and took them around to greet the other guests. The new poet laureate, Mr. Southey, was there and the famous scientist, Sir Humphrey Davy. Jane was enthralled by his talk of the strange effects of something called laughing gas, and Lord Wraybourne promised to take her to the Royal Institution to witness Sir Humphrey’s next demonstration. She was not surprised to find the earl kept his own box there for the lectures.

He also introduced them to the famous miniaturist, Mr. Andrew Robertson, and Jane gathered he had been commissioned to paint her portrait soon after the wedding. However, she found the way he studied her alarming. He seemed to be looking beneath her skin, stripping off each layer of bone and tissue.

All too soon, for Sophie at least, it was time to sit for the music. She breathed an audible sigh, but Jane was amused to see that she was soon enthralled. Jane herself was delighted to experience such excellence. All the performers were professionals playing for their own and their friends’ amusement. The pieces were short and lively. Some were new, and occasionally a member of the audience, caught by a particular passage, would rise up and take an instrument to join in.

Little musical jokes were played, and, though Jane and Sophie usually missed the allusion, Lord Wraybourne could often supply it. If not, the atmosphere of good humor was satisfying in itself. Jane and Sophie both laughed heartily at the last item, when a violinist and a cellist conducted a musical conversation. Even without words, one could hear the stern husband and flighty wife as they argued and then made up.

“That was fun,” said Sophie in surprise.

“Perhaps we’ll turn you into a connoisseur yet,” remarked her brother.

Sophie was about to retort when she said instead, “Oh, good heavens! What is
he
doing here?”

They all turned and saw Edwin Hever at the back of the room. He gave a bow in their direction and started towards them.

“David, do let us move. I cannot abide one of his lectures. I am sure he is not a music lover. He has no soul.”

Unfortunately, it was impossible to escape and soon they were being greeted by the young man.

“What a charming surprise! But I should have known such a patron of the arts as you, My Lord, would be present at these occasions. The very best of music, is it not; though I am not sure artists of quality should debase themselves by vulgar entertainment of that last sort. Suitable for the lower orders maybe, but not for such as we.”

“I liked it,” said Sophie bluntly.

Sir Edwin smiled beneficently at her. “Perhaps also it appeals to young ladies, dear Lady Sophie.”

“Along with the lower orders?” she queried indignantly, but her brother broke in.

“I would have thought you would spend your time in Town at the more elevated social gatherings, Hever.”

“Oh, goodness no, My Lord. What is the point of visiting the Great Metropolis if only to dance and engage in idle chatter? One must broaden one’s mind. I will have so much to relate when I return home. My mother will be delighted to learn of the many matters I have touched on. Why only yesterday I visited—”

“Excuse us,” said Lord Wraybourne ruthlessly. “We must speak to Mr. Lamb.”

Once they were safely away, Sophie remarked, “I wish I knew how you did that. I have never seen anyone cut him off in full flow before.”

“He recognizes determination. If you marry him, I’ll cut
you
off.”

She laughed. “As if I would!”

“Good. I am now going to ask Percy Wetherby to take you in to supper. He’s a philosopher and took a first at Cambridge, but you’ll like him anyway.”

A few moments later Jane watched as Sophie, somewhat alarmed, was led off by a handsome, fashionable man. Before they had left the room, Sophie was laughing.

“At last. A moment alone with you, Jane,” said Lord Wraybourne.

She glanced around at the twenty or so people still in the room and raised her brows.

“Well, to be really alone would be dangerous, don’t you think?” he added. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Very much. I never realized when I was growing up how starved I was of good music. I think sometimes of the poor people who never have an opportunity to listen to such excellence.”

He smiled. “That is kind of you. I hope we can always think of those less fortunate. But it is surprising how music exists for everyone. The simple folk have their whistles and their fiddles, and always their voices. I have heard beautiful music in poor surroundings.”

This delightful moment of conversation was interrupted when Jane noted, from his change of expression, that someone unexpected had entered the room. She turned and saw Crossley Carruthers approaching, all smiles.

“Lord Wraybourne, Miss Sandiford, what a pleasure! I hardly expected to find such as you at this humble gathering.”

“I could say the same, Carruthers. I was not aware that you were musically inclined.”

The handsome young man made an airy gesture. “A bit of this. A bit of that. A man of the world has to get around.”

Jane was aware, even though Lord Wraybourne’s manner was impeccably polite, of a constraint in the conversation.

“This is my first visit here,” she said hastily. “Is it the same for you, Mr. Carruthers?”