Page 16 of To Woo and to Wed
Lady Fitzwilliam frowned. “Why do you look… like that?”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and looked directly at her. “Because I think that a betrothal sounds like a perfectlysplendididea.”
The Risedale ball had quickly become one of Sophie’s favorite events each Season; the Earl and Countess of Risedale had a large home in St. James’s—just around the corner from West’s—and the countess had, upon her marriage a couple of years earlier, taken it upon herself to oversee an extensive renovation of the ballroom, which now resembled nothing so much as an orangery. There was a wall lined with windows overlooking the extensive terraced gardens, and the ceiling, too, was made of glass; ordinarily, Sophie imagined, one would be able to look up and see the dark sky above, but tonight, with the room filled with candles, a magnificent chandelier suspended from one of the iron supporting bars, the light from within was reflected back at her in the glass, the outside world invisible.
An appropriate metaphor for theton,come to think of it.
She and West had agreed that there was little purpose in postponing their ruse, and the Risedale ball was a perfect opportunity to commence it; the Countess of Risedale was Blackford’s sister, meaning he and Alexandra were certain to attend. Sophie had hesitated briefly, wondering if Alexandra would suspect something if she seemed to fall too readily into West’s arms, but quickly discarded this concern. People, she had found, were quite eager to see what they wished; like it ornot, Sophie’s reunion with West was precisely what Alexandra wished to see. She wouldn’t prove difficult to convince.
Therefore, a mere three days after her visit to West’s home, she found herself standing in a ballroom, making idle conversation with Violet, and attempting to convince herself that shewasn’tlooking for him out of the corner of her eye.
“Is something wrong?” Violet asked, after Sophie had started for the third time in as many minutes; she kept catching glimpses of tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered men and thinking, for a split second, that they were West, until her body almost immediately seemed to realize its mistake, even before her eyes could confirm it.
“Nothing,” Sophie said brightly, taking a larger-than-planned gulp of champagne from the flute in her hand; she coughed, then coughed again, trying to catch her breath. Someone appeared next to her, pressing a monogrammed handkerchief into her hand.
Glancing up through watering eyes, she found that it was James Audley, West’s brother.
“Are you all right?” Audley asked, mildly concerned. “Haven’t caught some deadly illness, have you?” He turned to regard his wife.
“Why are you looking at me?” Violet demanded.
“Because I believe you are the expert on life-threatening diseases among our set. If you will recall, you had quite a scare last summer.” Audley uttered this solemnly, but there was a telltale twinkle in his eye.
“I’m fine,” Sophie said at last, her coughing subsiding. “Champagne is dangerous, apparently.”
“So is your sister,” Audley said darkly.
“Which one?”
“Harriet.” He took a sip of his own champagne. “She cornered meto make all sorts of inquiries about a horse she’s thinking of buying. She seemed to want something fast.”
“That does sound like Harriet,” Sophie said, suppressing a smile.
“And intimidating,” he added. “I believe her exact words were, ‘I want Hyacinth Montmorency to quiver in her boots when she sees me on horseback.’?”
Sophie lost the battle with her smile. “She and Miss Montmorency have been friends since they were girls.”
Audley blinked. “Friends? She described her like a foe on the battlefield.”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “They have a bit of a… healthy rivalry. Hyacinth is still unwed and Harriet is a bit jealous.”
Audley frowned. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“Oh, no,” Sophie assured him. “Harriet considers it a great achievement to be a single woman of means. She was thoroughly disgusted with herself when she fell in love with George and married at the very respectable age of nineteen.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “Also, she’s always been envious that Hyacinth has a much more interesting ‘H’ name than she does.”
By this point, Audley looked frankly mystified. Violet patted her husband’s arm in a vaguely condescending way, and said, “It’s too complex for a man to understand, James; don’t fret too much.”
Audley’s expression shifted from confused to appalled. “You make me sound like a fussing child.”
“I believe I, too, have made that comparison before,” came a familiar voice from behind them, and they turned; Jeremy had materialized in their midst. He clutched a glass of champagne in one hand and was craning his neck around as if in search of someone. “Haven’t seen Diana, have you?” he asked.
“That way,” Violet said, nodding to her left. “She was dancing with Lord Henry Cavendish.”
“Cavendish,” Jeremy pronounced darkly; Sophie wasn’t entirely certain she blamed him, given Cavendish’s reputation. (Although, in the interest of fairness, said reputation wasn’t much worse than Jeremy’s had been before his marriage.)
“Hewaslooking quite handsome this evening,” Violet added mischievously, and Jeremy rolled his eyes.
“His trousers were very tight-fitting,” Sophie said, all innocence; Jeremy scowled at her, but before he could say anything else, Violet called brightly, “West!”
