She turned again to Sir Edmund, but some of her pleasure in his company had been diminished by his words. She felt both her “suitors” (if that’s what either of them were) had much to learn about courting a woman. Mr. Maitland paid too little heed to society’s opinion and Sir Edmund too much. “ ‘Talk,’ Sir Edmund?” she asked. “When we are merely sitting next to each other on a bench at a public concert?”
“Have I offended you? I beg your pardon. This is why I sought your advice to begin with, if you recall,” Sir Edmund said. “I am hopeless in my interactions with ladies.”
Sophie wondered if she’d been too guarded thus far as well. She was still uncertain if he desired anything more from her than friendship, but how was he to know she would welcome a warmer relationship if she did not convey that to him? He was the only man, other than Frederick Maitland, for whom she’d ever felt such a strong attraction, but in contrast to Mr. Maitland, she also liked him so very much. She decided to throw caution to the winds. “Are you saying, Sir Edmund, that you wish to learn to flirt?”
Sir Edmund looked surprised for a moment, but then a definite gleam of interest lit his eyes. “Are you offering to teach me?” he asked, lowering his voice even further so as not to be heard by Lady Mary. Sophie’s stomach began to flutter in reaction to that husky tone, and the thought occurred to her that she was playing with fire. She suddenly felt very alone with him in their corner of the darkened hall, the flickering candlelight gently highlighting the planes of his face and glinting in his eyes. She always found him attractive, as she’d just acknowledged to herself, but tonight in his evening clothes, speaking throatily and intimately in a low voice, Sophie felt a little like a fragile moth fluttering around a flame, about to have its wings singed. But she was finished being too cautious, she reminded herself.
“I think you are more skilled than you pretend, Sir Edmund,” she finally replied, after the silence between them had grown unbearably loud in Sophie’s ears, filled as it was with the thumping of her heart.
“But I am a novice at the art, Miss Lattimore. I place myself entirely in your hands,” he said, his expression displaying awareness of his double entendre and contradicting his assertion of being an innocent at this game.
“You are a fast learner,” Sophie praised him. “Still, your inexperience betrays you. A true proficient would have asked to share the lady’s concert bill.”
They both looked down at the paper in her lap. “What if I had one of my own?” he asked, a note of humor reverberating in his soft voice.
“Do you?” Sophie asked.
There was a rustling sound, as Sir Edmund deliberately folded his program and put it in his waistcoat pocket. “I seem to have misplaced my program, Miss Lattimore. Might I share yours?”
Sophie was a trifle alarmed by her own audacity thus far but was not about to draw back now. She shifted closer to Sir Edmund on the bench, holding the program between them, and he bent his head nearer her own. She could feel gentle puffs of his breath teasing the curls on her cheek and neck, and his leg was brushing hers. She completely forgot that she was supposed to be tutoring him.
“And what do I do next, Fair Instructress?” he whispered into her ear.
Sophie could not think of a single thing, or at least she could think of nothing that she wanted him to do that was appropriate between an unbetrothed couple in a public setting. She was not even sure if she could speak, so overcome was she by his nearness. Finally she managed to whisper, “Perhaps you could comment on the delights the evening has in store.”
“You mean those listed on the concert bill, or as embodied in the charms of my companion?” he asked. And though his voice faltered a little, as if he, too, was finding it difficult to converse in a natural manner, Sophie felt it unfair that he was able to respond more quickly than she was.
She could not have said whether the program was even written in English, the words appeared such a jumbled mishmash before her eyes. But apparently Sir Edmund could read it and endeavored to see it even more clearly, because he reached out to take a corner of it, his hand touching hers as he did so.
Sophie was so agitated and excited that when the music began at just that moment she jumped in surprise, startling Lady Mary.
“Oh, Sir Edmund,” Lady Mary said, noticing the two of them sharing the slip of paper. “You do not have a program. Take mine, please, I can share with my cousin.” And she shoved the unwanted program into his hand, chattering all the while, until someone behind them cleared his throat.
Sir Edmund waited a moment after Lady Mary had turned away, then whispered to Sophie: “It is your turn to misplace yours.” Sophie, her senses overstimulated by the music and his nearness, did not respond in words, but leaned back until she could rest her shoulder against his. It almost felt as if he were embracing her, as he had shifted in his seat so that his arm was behind her back, and they sat that way, Sophie feeling more cherished than she had in years, for most of the evening. Occasionally his hand or foot would brush hers, and she would feel a delightful tingle in response. She was far more conscious of him than of the music, and on the carriage ride home with her aunt and cousin she could not bring herself to offer one intelligent opinion about the concert, though she’d never enjoyed one more.
9
Sophie had been surprised that Mr. Maitland was not at the concert or, indeed, anywhere to be found in recent days. She did not think she could have flirted with Sir Edmund so brazenly under Mr. Maitland’s knowing gaze, and so did not know if she regretted his absence or was grateful for it. She sometimes felt as fickle as Cecilia, keeping two men dangling at the same time, but the difference was that she was genuinely drawn to both Mr. Maitland and Sir Edmund, while Cecilia could barely tolerate Lord Courtney. Another difference was that Cecilia was sure of Mr. Hartwell’s intentions, while Sophie was sure of nothing at all. Sophie was worried that if she did make an effort to attach Sir Edmund, she might lose Mr. Maitland and wind up with no one, as it was possible Sir Edmund had no romantic intentions toward her. The one thing Sophie was sure of was that she was done living as a poor relation and lonely spinster. She was determined to end her stay in Bath with an engagement. She was just not sure to which gentleman.
While she had greatly enjoyed herself at the concert the other evening, she now worried it had been a terrible mistake to offer to tutor Sir Edmund in dalliance. For if he continued to flirt with her, how was she to know if it was all an act or if he genuinely cared? She felt ridiculous, too, offering him instruction in romance, as if she believed herself to be a modern-day Circe. There was nothing more pathetic than an aging spinster putting on airs, particularly when Sir Edmund was so very good-looking and obviously needed no guidance from her on how to make himself appealing to women. So when she thought back on that evening, as she frequently did, she was torn between feelings of humiliation and exhilaration.
It did not help matters that during their one meeting since the concert she and Sir Edmund had each been shy of the other. It was true, however, that the circumstances of the two encounters were vastly different, as the second was not in a darkened concert hall but in the Pump Room during the brightest part of the day, where they were surrounded by takers of water and tellers of gossip.
Sophie was walking with Emily Woodford when she spotted Sir Edmund. Sophie was becoming quite fond of Emily, particularly since Sophie had done her duty by introducing her to Sir Edmund and Emily had been so good as to not fall in love with him. But Sophie would have thought even more highly of her if, when Sir Edmund joined them, Emily had recalled an urgent appointment and left Sophie and Sir Edmund to walk alone together. Because Sophie was convinced that much of Sir Edmund’s restraint that morning was caused by Emily’s presence.
Since Emily didn’t suddenly acquire miraculous mind-reading powers and leave, Sophie determined that she would try to make her and Sir Edmund more comfortable with each other. And she was succe
eding in drawing them both out when Emily happened upon the very subject that caused Sophie to feel least comfortable of all.
They were discussing local entertainments and Emily asked Sir Edmund if he had attended the concert at the Upper Assembly Rooms the previous evening. “I know you were there, Sophie, though I did not see you again after you left the Octagon Room. Were you able to attend, Sir Edmund?”
“I was,” he said, with a sideways glance at Sophie. “I enjoyed it very much.”
Sophie felt herself blushing but met Sir Edmund’s gaze for a moment, and they shared a secret smile.
“Which did you enjoy more, the Italian or the German composers?” Emily asked, to Sophie’s consternation. She had not thought she would be quizzed on the content of the concert to which she’d paid absolutely no attention.
Sir Edmund rescued her by saying he was partial to Pleyel and asked Emily her favorite. Thankfully Emily could talk at length about music, and Sir Edmund and Sophie allowed her to chatter away on the subject while peeking at each other from time to time to see if the other was looking before glancing away in embarrassment at being caught doing so.
* * *
The secret of Mr. Maitland’s absence was revealed the next day when he called upon the ladies at their lodgings. He was not their only caller; the drawing room was full at the time, and after paying his respects to Mrs. Foster he greeted Lady Smallpeace and Lady Mary, who responded as dissimilarly as they always did, Lady Smallpeace appearing affronted and offering terse proclamations, and Lady Mary reacting with blushing confusion and meandering sentences.
Mr. Hartwell and Lord Courtney were also present, as was Mrs. Beswick, and Mr. Maitland seemed at first to have called on purpose to see Priscilla, as he gave her his attention next and seemed completely delighted with her company. Sophie, who was attempting to draw Lord Courtney’s attention away from Cecilia so that Mr. Hartwell might converse with her, was finding it such a difficult task that she did not think to feel offended by Mr. Maitland’s neglect. When he eventually made his way to her side, her primary emotion was surprise, so distracted was she by Cecilia’s stupidity in entertaining Lord Courtney’s suit and thereby alienating Mr. Hartwell’s affections.
Still, she did wonder where Mr. Maitland had gone and was happy to have him assuage her curiosity, though she felt he could have done so in a less provoking manner. “Did you miss me?” he asked, looking meltingly into her eyes.
“I cried for days,” she replied drily, and he laughed, as she meant him to, but there was an underlying awkwardness between them, as they both couldn’t help being reminded of the last time he’d left without a word, and how she really had cried for days, if not months.
“I went to Wiltshire. I have a tidy little farm there. Bought it after my marriage,” he said, before continuing quickly, as if he realized the best way to woo her was not with reminders of his past betrayal. “The children usually stay there with their nurse, but I brought them back with me to Bath.”
Sophie just blinked, not sure what this was meant to portend. “Did you?” she finally asked, as she felt it a nice, neutral response.
“I did. To meet you,” he added softly, after a quick look around to ensure no one else was listening.
“I am sure that I will be delighted to meet them. We all will,” she said, trying to make the gesture less pointed in its significance.
Mr. Maitland looked at her without speaking for a moment. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you, Sophie?” he finally asked, before giving her a slight, self-assured smile. It was dangerous, that smile, as was the light in his eyes. “I do not mind, though. I relish the thought of winning you. My treasure,” he said tenderly, and now Sophie was the one to look around them in fear of observers. Because this seemed far more serious than flirtation, and she was suddenly panic-stricken that if Mr. Maitland continued behaving toward her this way in public, she would no longer have the luxury of choosing her fate. Her fate would be sealed.
* * *
Someone had observed them, she discovered later, when all the guests had left and her aunt had gone to her room and only Sophie and her cousin were left in the drawing room together.
“I beg your pardon, Sophie, if you think it impertinent of me to ask, but are things settled between you and Mr. Maitland?” Cecilia said.
Sophie, looking over at Cecilia, noticed she appeared pale and wan. Sophie did not think she was enjoying Bath very much these days. Sophie wasn’t surprised, as Cecilia spent much of her time with Lady Smallpeace and Lord Courtney, who were not the most congenial of companions.
“Settled? Do you mean are we betrothed?” Sophie asked, and Cecilia nodded. “No, of course not. Surely you do not think I would enter into a secret engagement? If I become engaged, I will be sure to announce it in the papers, you can have no doubt.” Sophie said this last jokingly, though she was making a pretense of lightheartedness, as her heart had sunk at Cecilia’s question.
“His attentions seem . . . so very pointed. Surely you still do not doubt that he will offer for you?” Cecilia asked.
“I will have some doubt until he actually does, I suppose, but you are right that he appears to be serious this time.”
“And have you decided what your answer will be?”
Sophie sighed. “I have decided . . . that I am completely undecided,” she said, smiling ruefully. “If he offers for me and he hasn’t already provided an explanation of his past behavior, I will demand one before I give my answer. But for some reason the thought of committing myself fills me with panic—even though I’d once thought I could be offered no greater joy than to become his wife.”
“I understand completely,” Cecilia said. “I am also panic-stricken at the thought of committing myself to an engagement.”
They were silent for a moment. Sophie studied Cecilia as she stared unseeingly at a portrait of an unknown lady in a ruff that had come with the house, and thought again that she’d never seen her usually happy-go-lucky cousin so dejected. She longed to talk to Cecilia but was worried that if she did not choose her words carefully, they could spur Cecilia on to the wrong course of action. And Sophie was conscious, too, that she was not setting the best example for her younger cousin while her own romantic affairs were so tangled. Still, she had to try.
“I have no wish to pry, either, but is it an engagement to Lord Courtney that causes you to feel panic-stricken?” Sophie asked.
Cecilia nodded.
“Cecilia, if you are so unhappy at even the prospect of marriage to him, why do you continue to encourage his suit?”
Apparently these were not the correct words, as Cecilia’s spine straightened and she frowned at Sophie. “You must be aware, Cousin, that he is the catch of my generation.”
“I am aware of it, and it is complete and utter nonsense. Why? Because he is rich? Because three hundred years ago some pox-ridden king was bribed into giving his ancestor a title? You will be living with a man, Cecilia. Not his money or title.”
“You’re one to give me advice. Do you think I’ve not seen how you are encouraging Sir Edmund’s suit at the same time you dangle Mr. Maitland on a string? You’re playing a dangerous game, Sophie, so I would warn you to look to your own affairs before you criticize mine!”
Cecilia stormed out of the drawing room, and Sophie was left with the lady in the ruff. She turned to the portrait. “I hope I didn’t insult one of your relatives just now. And perhaps I underestimated how many years ago the pox-ridden king gave Lord Courtney’s ancestor his title. Lady Smallpeace could enlighten me, I’m sure.”
Then, realizing it wasn’t quite the thing to be conversing with an inanimate object, Sophie also left the drawing room.
* * *
Before Sophie could meet Mr. Maitland’s children, she was honored by a different introduction. Mr. Beswick had arrived in Bath, and Priscilla brought him around to Rivers Street
the next day. She first sent a note to Sophie asking permission to call, and as Cecilia and Mrs. Foster had their usual appointment with their friends in the Pump Room, Sophie told them to go without her and that she would stay behind to receive the Beswicks.
She was a trifle worried that Mr. Beswick would be angry with her for her interference in his affairs, as she did not know if he counted it a blessing or a curse that he had won Priscilla’s hand in marriage, particularly considering Priscilla’s behavior since. But when he and Priscilla were ushered into the drawing room, his mood, though not exactly pleasant, did not appear to be caused by resentment of Sophie, but rather by the necessity for him to travel to Bath.
Sophie had only seen Charles Beswick once before, in a poorly lit ballroom for no more than a few minutes, and would probably not have recognized him had she passed him on the street. Now that she had the time to study his appearance, she found that he had the look of a gentleman farmer, or at least of someone who spent much of his time out-of-doors. His complexion was tanned, and he wore his shirt and jacket collars lower than any other gentleman of Sophie’s acquaintance. Still, he was not unfashionable. His informal, nonchalant air made him appear as if he cared nothing for the opinion of others, thereby setting his own fashion.
But he certainly did not seem as if he belonged at Priscilla’s side, as she always looked as if she’d stepped out of an illustration from the pages of La Belle Assemblée. Today she was even more glamorous than usual, but her efforts seemed to be lost on Mr. Beswick, who did not seem to recognize or care that Priscilla was wearing the latest in à la modality.
They also did not appear to have resolved their differences. After Priscilla had presented Sophie to Mr. Beswick and Sophie had encouraged her guests to sit, an awkward, tense silence pervaded the room. The situation was not improved when Sophie asked Mr. Beswick how long they were to have the pleasure of his company in Bath.
Miss Lattimore's Letter Page 10
