Chapter Seven
Sophronia did not get her normal satisfaction from her reading that afternoon. She was too conscious of the duke’s annoying presence. If he thought the project so hopeless, why had he donated fifty pounds?
His words nagged at her. What did she know about the poor, really? Was she only involved in this project to ease her own conscience, her own feeling of guilt because she was so unequally blessed?
With these thoughts intruding, she stumbled several times in her reading. She was in danger of making a complete mess of this. Pausing to take a steadying breath, she dared to look at the duke.
She could not interpret the expression on his face. If she did not know it to be impossible, she might have thought it was tenderness.
Her audience, though odiferous and dressed in rags, fortunately was eager. After reading the weekly chapter, Sophronia was teased into reading another. Then, in spite of their displeasure, she stood and bid them good-bye until the next week. Linking arms with Lady Clarice, she left the little church for the duke’s carriage.
The older woman kept up a steady stream of conversation during the entire ride back to Mayfair. Mr. Budgeworthy had given her a favorable report, and she was anxious for Sophronia and the duke to have every detail of what she had learned.
When they were near to home, she surprised Sophronia by turning to her and asking, “Are you going to see the curricle racers take off from the East End on Saturday, my dear?”
“No. We are to watch the end of the race. Lord Gilbert is to take Lavinia and me.”
“Oh, that would be splendid! I was going to offer you an invitation to come with Sukey and me to the start. I would not miss it for anything, but being at the finish will be even better!”
The duke was unrepentant enough to give Sophronia a wink and one of his roguish smiles. Sophronia turned her head away.
Once they reached Blossom House, Lady Clarice’s home, Sophronia bid the duke a frosty farewell and defied convention by walking on her own the rest of the way to Larkspur House.
She and Lavinia had an engagement for a small dinner at a distant cousin’s house that evening. Fortunately, the duke was not invited. Saturday night, they attended the theater with Gilbert and their aunt and uncle to see Kean’s King Lear. Sophronia quite lost herself in the brilliant production and thought of little else.
By Sunday, her pique with the duke had worn off, and she was willing to grant that he might have had a few valid points. As she sat at Sunday services, she listed them off to herself.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to enlist volunteers to help with construction jobs on the Academy building. Mr. Budgeworthy knew what tasks could be completed by unskilled labor. The greatest area where they could use help, however, was with the baking. Rather than bringing their own servants in from the West End, would it not be better to utilize the baking talents of some of their students? They could alternate. The duke was right. This would give the participants a stake in the success of the Academy.
The harder truth for Sophronia to take to heart was that she really knew nothing about the poor. She had an idealized, fairy story idea where she would descend upon them as a fairy godmother and lead them to a happy life. But why should the poor want to learn to read? How could they be expected to see the advantages? Their first priority was filling their stomachs and clothing their backs. They would be slow to see how reading could improve their lot. Maybe at her weekly readings she needed to start a campaign to persuade them of all the advantages reading could give them.
As she walked out of St. George’s Church that morning, her mind was busy when her aunt’s sister, the widowed Lady Falwell, took her arm. She was attired gloriously in silver and white.
“My, Lady Sophronia, it seems you have taken Reverend Sweeny’s sermon seriously to heart!”
“Oh . . . good morning, Lady Falwell. Yes, I was wool-gathering. I’m afraid I did not see you there. Forgive me.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I will be holding a little supper for the family tonight, with cards afterwards. Nothing formal. Of course, Lord Gilbert and the duke will be invited.”
“How welcome that sounds! I am growing very tired of so many formal gatherings!”
The countess smiled at her. “I imagine you are. They are not exactly your cup of tea, are they?”
Sophronia gave a grudging laugh. “No. Not exactly.”
For once, she gave special thought to her appearance because the duke would be present. She planned to resume their conversation and solicit ideas from him.
“Dearest Vinnie, what should I wear? My new gowns have come, and it is an embarrassment of riches.”
“The royal blue, I think. It does marvelous things for your eyes. I shall help Hannah with your hair. I do not think she is getting it quite right in the back.”
The royal blue peau de soie did indeed flatter Sophronia's eyes, making them come alive in her pale face. Lavinia added the now-customary slight brush of coral across Sophronia's cheek bones. The curled wisps of blonde hair about her face drew attention to her fine features.
“You have never looked so lovely,” Lavinia said. “You will give Lady Falwell pause.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Just that she has her eyes on the duke. All of society knows it.”
“Well, I did not know it. As though I could be a threat to her! And she certainly is welcome to Mayfield, in any case.”
Lavinia peered at her sister’s face. “I was beginning to think that maybe you liked him a bit better now.”
Sophronia softened. “Possibly a bit,” she admitted. “The countess is a very beautiful woman.”
“So are you, in your own subtle way,” said Lavinia. “Many men prefer subtlety, you know.”
Sophronia grimaced. “I am not in the market to become a duchess, Vinnie.”
Her sister only smiled.
Lady Falwell’s small house was a perfect setting for her gemstone beauty. The rooms were all decorated in ivory and gold. She wore a gown of red satin, cut very low in front with little, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Her magnificent auburn hair was worn half down, curls caressing her ivory skin.
Standing next to the duke, who had arrived previously, she greeted them all as though they were her favorite relations.
“Lady Lavinia, you are a perfect angel. Peach does so become you, and Lady Sophronia, I must say I have never seen you looking so well!”
While she greeted her sister with kisses on both cheeks, the duke said to Sophronia in a low voice, “She is right, you know.”
Sophronia's only reply was to offer him her hand, which he bowed over formally, his deep blue eyes fixed on hers. She quelled a shiver and moved on to allow him to greet her aunt and uncle.
Because this was the first visit she had ever paid to the countess’s home, she had never observed her aunt in the setting. Her relative seemed to thaw, become garrulous, and very nearly glow with good spirits.
By contrast, her uncle, never more than a cipher in her mind, withdrew even further into himself. He stood off to one side, observing his fingernails.
Lord Gilbert came to stand beside Sophronia. “My brother is full of your plans for the Reading Academy. You and Lady Clarice made quite an impression. You very nearly upstaged the curricle race in his mind.”
This news astounded her. “I am surprised. He offered nothing but criticism of the project. And of me.”
“That is Mayfield when he is truly involved in something. But his advice is generally sound, if you can manage not to take offense.”
The duke was engaged in a tête à tête with their hostess. Without realizing it, Sophronia scowled. “You are right. I have since seen the wisdom in his remarks.”
Lord Gilbert laughed. “You do not seem overly pleased.”
Lavinia approached them. She whispered, “This is all an elaborate charade in order for Aunt’s sister to get the duke here.”
“I agree,” said Lord Gilbert. “I hope she has
a decent chef, at least.”
To Sophronia's surprise, there was one more arrival. Tubby strode into the drawing room. Obviously, Lady Falwell had invited him as her partner. She did not know whether to be glad or annoyed. Was Tubby’s attendance on her the talk of the ton? It must be for Lady Falwell to have heard of it.
After greeting his hostess, Tubby made a beeline for Sophronia. Taking her proffered hand and bowing over it, he said, “Lady Sophronia, by heavens, you look jolly lovely!”
“Thank you, Lord Stephens. How are your beautiful geldings shaping for the curricle race? It is almost upon us.”
“Well. Well. Doing well. Mayfield and I are staging a practice run tomorrow to Richmond. Too bad it’s not the done thing for young ladies. Like to take you up beside me!”
“I should love it. Do not tempt me, my lord!”
The duke chose that moment to appear at her elbow. “What improper thing is his lordship proposing?”
“He wants to take me up in his curricle tomorrow for your practice run. I am sorely tempted, but my aunt would disown me.”
“Tell you what I need,” said Tubby. “Your handkerchief. Take that up with me.”
Sophronia grinned. She immediately opened her evening reticule and removed her lace handkerchief, handing it to Tubby. “This means I am backing you to win, Lord Stephens.”
The man chuckled and placed it inside his waistcoat. “Wear it next to my heart.”
Handing the duke her own scrap of lace, Lady Falwell said, “You must take my handkerchief up with you, Your Grace.”
He accepted it with a smile and placed it inside his waistcoat as Tubby had done. “May the best man . . . and lady . . . win.”
Dinner was a merry affair with Tubby entertaining them all by acting out impressions of the more exalted members of the nobility. Sophronia never had any idea Tubby could be so humorous. As they were laughing, Sophronia eyed the countess, who seemed less than pleased that the duke’s attention was constantly elsewhere.
When the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, Lady Falwell sat next to her on the sofa. “Lady Sophronia, I think Lord Stephens must be very much infatuated with you. I have never known him to be so amusing.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Sophronia replied. “I believe he is in alt because of his practice race with the duke tomorrow. He is infatuated with his geldings. They are bays and the sweetest goers.”
Her aunt frowned at her use of slang.
The countess turned her attention to Lavinia. “Pray, tell me what plans you have for renovating Harcourt. You certainly have your work cut out for you, my dear. But I envy you the project. You shall be able to put your stamp on it, and the generations who come after will all say, ‘It was Lord Gilbert’s wife who saved this property from ruin back in 1812—’”
Aunt Reynolds immediately broke in, “Sylvia, how you do run on. Harcourt is a beautiful property!”
“It needs years of work, Isabel, and you know it. How fortunate that Lady Lavinia has a fortune to devote to it.”
Sophronia's heart increased its beat as anger suffused her. Looking at Lavinia, she saw that her sister had gone white, her eyes huge in her face as she stared at Lady Falwell. Could it be true that Gilbert did not have a fortune and was marrying her for her money? What a terrible way to find out! And her aunt had obviously known all along.
“How long has it been since you have seen Harcourt?” Lavinia asked. Sophronia could tell that she was striving for a disinterested tone.
“Oh, my dear, it was just last week. My dearest friend, Lady Farraday, lives in the neighborhood, and I was staying with her. I have to admit I was most surprised. But then, Lord Gilbert cannot be blamed for the condition it is in, as he only inherited last year.”
At that moment, the men rejoined them. Lord Gilbert went straight to his fiancée. With what Sophronia could only guess was tremendous power of will, Lavinia returned his smile.
“So,” he said, “what reputations have you been tearing to shreds while we partook of our port?”
Sophronia winced. Lavinia turned even more pale. The countess laughed merrily. “We were not gossiping!” she said, tapping his wrist with her fan.
Sophronia began to cough. Keeping it up for a good minute or two, she finally said, “Lady Falwell, I am afraid I am not fit for cards this evening. I have been ill and feel a relapse coming on.”
“Dearest, no!” said Lavinia. “We must get you home immediately!” She turned to Tubby. “Lord Stephens, could I prevail upon you to take us home? We do not want to break up the party. Aunt has been so looking forward to it.”
Sophronia looked at Gilbert quickly enough to notice that he was affronted, while the duke beside him looked speculative.
Tubby said, “I will certainly take the two of you back to Larkspur House. May I fetch a physician as well?”
“Perhaps,” Sophronia said, coughing again. “We will see how I do once I am home. You are so kind.”
Lady Falwell sent the footman for their pelisses, and Lavinia apologized. “My dear countess, we would not upset your party for the world. But Sophronia has been ill. She has a weak chest, you know. We must get her to bed. I am so terribly worried about her.”
The countess seemed to be all concern. “Oh, yes, you certainly must take the greatest care of her. We would not want dear Lady Sophronia to develop an inflammation of the lungs!”
She hustled them out of her house with dispatch, Sophronia coughing until her throat was raw. All the while she was convinced, however, that Lady Falwell knew she was perfectly well. Had the woman dropped her poisonous words by design? Did she realize what she had wrought?
Tubby was visibly worried. “You ought not have attempted to come out this evening, Lady Sophronia. Your health must come first.”
“Thank you for your concern, Lord Stephens. I shall be well enough when I am home in my own room. You are so thoughtful. I hope you will return to the party.”
“Do not know that I wish to. Matter of fact, I am not all that fond of cards.”
When she and her sister were at last alone, they embraced silently, and Lavinia began to sob great, wrenching sobs.
“He is after my fortune. I never would have believed it! How can it be that he is such a scoundrel?”
Sophronia stroked her sister’s back, trying to soothe her. “I did not guess either, dearest. Do you suppose Lady Falwell was exaggerating? That she was merely trying to make you unhappy?”
“No. She may have meant to be spiteful, but she spoke the truth. Whyever else would Gilbert tell me lies about Harcourt and refuse to let me see it?”
Sophronia maneuvered her sister into the downstairs sitting room. Ringing the bell for Williams, she ordered tea. Lavinia continued to sob.
“And the worst of it is that I love him! How long will it take before my brain tells my heart what a miserable future I have been spared?”
Sophronia embraced her sister again. She could not even imagine the betrayal she must feel.
“To think his professions of love were false,” Lavinia continued. “It is almost more than I can bear, Sophronia. My future has suddenly become a blank.”
Sophronia thought of the looks she had seen on Gilbert’s face when he gazed at her sister. He had fooled her as well. She had been certain his love was real.
Tearing herself away from her sister, Lavinia went to the small desk and sat down.
“What are you doing?”
“Breaking my engagement. I have been a fool, but not for a moment longer. I shall write one letter to Gilbert and an announcement to the Morning Post.”
“Vinnie, dear, you have been so happy. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”
“I must make a clean break before Uncle can try to talk me out of it. You realize he must have known all along?” She scrawled her notes quickly. “I know it will cause a scandal, but I do not care tuppence. I will not marry a liar and a fortune hunter!”
“I should talk sense into you, but I am a
fraid I would feel just as you do,” Sophronia admitted. She paced the room. “You are right about Uncle, of course. No one can convince me that Uncle would not have had Gilbert thoroughly looked into.”
Her sister raised a tear-stained face to her. “They just want to be quit of us!”
She tried to think the situation through, to come up with another explanation. “I cannot think of another reason, to tell you the truth.” The wound of her uncle’s carelessness went deep. He did not even think enough of Lavinia to protect her from an outright fortune hunter, and he knew that wherever her sister went, Sophronia would go, too.
“I have given up on Uncle and Aunt long ago,” said Lavinia. She handed Sophronia the letter to the Post. “Can you give that to whatever footman is waiting out there and tell him to deliver it to the newspaper tonight? A public repudiation of my engagement may be the only way that Uncle will let me out of it. I want it to be a fait accompli.”
Chapter Eight
The Duke of Mayfield was breakfasting with his brother when Gilbert picked up the letter by his plate.
“Hmm. Delivered by hand from Lavinia. What can it be?”
Mayfield watched his brother grow pale as he read the epistle. “What the devil is it?” he asked.
“She has cried off. Lavinia has cried off!”
The duke felt a sense of dread descend upon him. “Does she state a reason?”
“She has no desire to be united with a liar and a fortune hunter.” His brother looked at him, his eyes wide and stricken.
Recalling the events of the night before, Mayfield said, “I knew her sister’s ‘illness’ was all a hum. Something happened while we were at our port.”
“But what could have happened? No one knows the state of my affairs. I have been very careful not to let them get about.”
“It can’t have been the aunt or uncle. They would not tell her. That leaves only the countess.”
“How could she know anything?”
“She must know something, Gil.” He paused, considering. “I have it. She was in the neighborhood near Harcourt, visiting last week. Undoubtedly, she saw it and knows it to be falling down. She could have mentioned the fact quite innocently.”
Spring in Hyde Park Page 12
