him were two separate things. She had behaved properly and they would never encounter each other again. ‘Show me the papers. I need to know what I have been accused of.’
Her stepmother held out one of the worst scandal sheets. Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘The redoubtable Miss R? Do I look redoubtable to you? I am the least formidable person I know. Really, Stepmother, I’m surprised you read such things! All they print are lies and tittle-tattle.’
‘How else can I find out what is going on in Newcastle, let alone in the rest of the country?’ Her stepmother dabbed her eyes. ‘Who is this Lord B who has captured your attention? Were you too ashamed of me to introduce us? I know I used to be in service, but that was long ago before your father fell in love with me.’
‘Ashamed of you?’ Sophie stared at her stepmother in astonishment. ‘I love you and whomever I marry had best love you as well or he will not be the man for me. Now that we have cleared that up, I want to know about your plans for your new bonnet.’
‘Sophie, stop confusing the issue with bonnets. The item in the papers. I shall not be deterred.’
‘You know it is a pack of lies, don’t you?’ She put her hand over her stepmother’s. ‘As if I would consider marrying without consulting you first. Honestly, Stepmother, sometimes you read too many penny-dreadfuls. When have I ever kept any of my friends from you? And I would never marry anyone who was not a friend first. I learnt a painful lesson three years ago.’
‘But there is a kernel of truth.’ Her stepmother’s cap trembled. ‘I know how to read your face, Sophie. You can never hide things from me, not things which truly matter. Who is this Lord B? Would Robert and Henri approve?’
‘Lord Bingfield,’ Sophie supplied. Her stepmother conveniently forgot the times when Sophie had kept things from her, including the precise truth about Sebastian. ‘He assisted me after Cynthia’s elopement. I doubt the entire proceedings would have gone as smoothly if not for his assistance. I was introduced to his aunt, Lady Parthenope, who is great friends with three of the Lady Patronesses at Almack’s. However, that is as far as it went. Someone has an overblown imagination and is making mischief.’
Sophie waited for her stepmother to ask about Lady Parthenope’s dress or what she had said.
‘Almack’s is far from the power it used to be and I won’t be distracted.’ Her stepmother frowned and Sophie’s heart sank. Her stepmother was worse than a dog with a bone about this snippet of gossip. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Lord Bingfield immediately?’
‘Because you would have jumped to the wrong conclusion like you are doing now, and I was tired.’ Sophie crumpled the toast between her fingers. The last thing she needed after her broken sleep was to be quizzed about Lord Bingfield. Every time she closed her eyes last night it seemed she remembered how his breath had fanned her cheek or how he had nearly kissed her. The encounter was nothing to him, but she couldn’t forget it. About three o’clock, she had decided that she’d been foolish and arrogant to reject his offer of an innocent dance. She should have danced with him and been done with it. She never dreamt about any of the men she danced with. The knowledge did not make her any happier.
‘You were thinking about me and my health.’ The ribbons of her stepmother’s cap swayed their indignation. ‘Sophie! Do you think I was born yesterday?’
‘Given how you are reacting now, is it any wonder? You are seeking a romance where there is none.’ Sophie was unsure who she was trying to convince—her stepmother or that little place inside her which kept whispering about Lord Bingfield’s fine eyes. ‘Besides, I doubt Lord Bingfield’s ultimate intentions towards me were honourable. He inhabits the scandal sheets, after all. Remember The Incident and why I had to hurry up to Corbridge? I’ve sworn off men like that.’
Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You had better hope it is a proper proposal from Lord Bingfield. People have long memories, Sophie. Your name will now be tainted from the mere association with his. Did you think about that last night when you were so busy accepting his trifling assistance? You know what your father wanted for you—a marriage into the higher echelons of society—and you have jeopardised that.’
‘You are talking fustian nonsense.’ Sophie tapped her finger on the scandal sheet. ‘How many papers?’
‘I have sent the butler to check. I should think most of them. Lady Parthenope sent me a note. She has invited us to take tea with her.’ Her stepmother’s hand trembled with excitement as she reached for the letter. ‘She wants to vet us. That’s what this is. You know what they say about her door-keeping at Almack’s. I shall need a new bonnet!’
Sophie bit her lip. ‘You can always refuse.’
‘One does not refuse Lady Parthenope, Sophie, and stay within the bounds of polite society.’ Her stepmother folded her hands in her lap and gave a smug smile. ‘I’ve been after an invitation for years. You will pass muster without a problem. My stepdaughter will become a member of the aristocracy, even if she will forget me.’
‘Stop spinning fantasies and nothing is finalised.’ Sophie slumped back against the chair. She would have to tell her stepmother the full unedifying story. It was the only option. ‘But there are, and will be, no impending nuptials to Lord Bingfield. I’m quite decided on that point. It happened—’
‘There is a gentleman to see you, Miss Ravel.’ The footman came in, carrying a silver platter with a single card, interrupting Sophie’s story.
With a trembling hand, Sophie picked it up. Richard Crawford, Viscount Bingfield.
She stood up and absurdly wished that she was dressed in something more up to the minute than her old blue gown. She ruthlessly quashed the notion. Lord Bingfield and last night’s escapade needed to be consigned to the past. The papers this morning proved it. Scandal dogged his footsteps.
‘I will see Lord Bingfield in the drawing room.’
‘I shall come with you, my dear.’ Her stepmother started to rise, but Sophie put a hand on her stepmother’s shoulder.
‘That is far from necessary, Stepmother. If I need assistance, I will shout. I have access to a poker and am not afraid to use it.’
‘Sophie!’
‘The truth, Stepmother.’ Sophie narrowed her eyes. ‘Allow me to do this or I shall write to Lady Parthenope, explaining that I have rejected her nephew’s suit and therefore neither of us will be able to take tea with her.’
Her stepmother covered her eyes. ‘I shudder to think what Robert—or Henri, for that matter—would say, but very well, my dear, you may see him on your own. On pain of death, do not close that door and I will be in earshot. Your father wanted the best for you and I am determined you shall have it, even if I have to beg Lady Parthenope on bended knee for a voucher to Almack’s.’
‘My father would expect me to sort out this mess. Despite what you or Henri or Robert might think, I am perfectly capable of sorting this tempest in a teacup out. I am an adult and, according to the papers, redoubtable.’ Sophie raised her chin. ‘I will simply tell him no.’
Chapter Three
Richard stood in the middle of the Ravels’ overly ornamented and chintz-hung drawing room, trying not to knock over any of the porcelain shepherds, china ladies or vases filled with wax flowers of every hue imaginable. The entire drawing room was a riot of pink tassels, lace doilies and small tables strewn with knickknacks, all in the most fashionable but horrendous taste. His frock-coat had narrowly missed one china pig and a precariously balanced bowl of waxen fruit already as he paced, waiting for Miss Ravel to put in an appearance.
What sort of woman was the redoubtable Miss Ravel? The woman he rescued last night had not seemed in any way formidable, but badly in need of protection. The gossip from the club said that she was aloof, an ice maiden, but he kept remembering the way her eyes had flashed when she rejected his offer of a polka.
His