seen.
An odd, but likeable gentleman, Mr Huxley had talked at length of his map collection.
‘A pleasure to meet you again, sir.’
‘The pleasure is mine, Miss Westby. Will you take a stroll about the room with me?’
‘Yes, you young people run along,’ her uncle agreed. ‘There’s a discussion on the Corn Laws going on over there that needs my insightful input.’
The realisation struck Sophie suddenly that her uncle might be matchmaking. Nevertheless, she laid her hand on Mr Huxley’s arm and allowed him to lead her off.
‘Your uncle tells me, Miss Westby, that you have been travelling a great deal into Kent.’
‘Why, yes, I am involved in a project that takes me there every few days of late.’
‘Which roads do you travel? I’ll wager a monkey that I know a route that will shorten your travel time by at least a quarter of an hour.’
Finally dry and presentable, Charles made his entrance after most of the guests had arrived and dinner was nearly ready to be announced. He went first to his mother, to apologise for his lateness, and found her chatting with Miss Ashford.
His mother simultaneously scolded and embraced him. Miss Ashford greeted him with her customary cool courtesy. He supposed he should be grateful that she acknowledged him at all, considering the escalating scandal surrounding his name. Indeed, he was grateful, he told himself sternly. He noticed that a few of the other young ladies his mother had invited for his benefit were not to be seen. Her very presence tonight was a testimony to Miss Ashford’s loyalty and character. He resolved to devote himself to her this evening, and to firmly suppress the small part of him that wished to feel more than gratitude for his future bride.
Miss Ashford’s father, however, requested a moment of his time, and Charles could not but agree. The baron drew him aside, and gestured to the long, crowded room full of glittering guests.
‘A nice evening,’ he said. ‘Perfect mix of business and pleasure.’
‘Thank you, sir. I hope you and your family will enjoy yourselves.’
‘No doubt. Womenfolk are in alt planning that charity ball.’
Charles nodded his sympathy. Miss Ashford had indeed struck upon the idea of a charity ball, and showed more enthusiasm for it than anything he had yet seen in her. ‘It is very good of your daughter to devote herself to such works.’
Lord Ashford gave an indulgent smile. ‘She’s a very good sort of girl, Dayle. Just what a lady ought to be.’
‘I hope you are aware of my agreement on that score,’ Charles said easily.
‘Well, that’s the subject I wished to discuss with you. I thought we had an understanding regarding your intentions, but now I find myself unsure.’
Startled into stupidity, Charles just gaped. ‘Sir?’
‘Rumours are one thing, Dayle. A man can’t help what the tabbies will say about him, most especially if he possesses as chequered a past as your own.’ He nodded his head in approval. ‘You’ve had a rough spot recently, and I thought you were handling it well. Some kind of ruckus seemed inevitable, and I thought you might as well put your past to rest early in your career rather than later. Good for you too. Tempered steel is stronger, as they say.’
‘I can honestly say, I never thought about it in that light.’
‘But this broadsheet’s another thing entirely. Takes it to another level, so to speak. Can’t have my girl mixed up in such.’
‘Surely you don’t believe such rubbish, Lord Ashford?’ said Charles, his temper starting to get the best of him.
‘Don’t matter what I believe, when it gets to this point. Matters what the rest of the world believes. I have a good bit of political weight. Meant to throw it behind you, if you and my girl found you suited. But I don’t mean to hitch my girl to a runaway wagon, if you understand. Want what’s best for her.’
‘I comprehend your meaning, sir,’ said Charles. And he did indeed understand the most salient point: his unseen opponent was gaining ground.
‘Now, don’t fret. You just keep your feet on the straight path and the situation will right itself.’ He squeezed Charles’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture. ‘My girl rather fancies you, I believe. At least she likes you as well as she’s ever liked anyone. If you need my help, you need only to ask.’
‘You are most generous,’ said Charles. It was a struggle to keep the bitterness from his voice.
The baron departed in search of his spouse, and Charles returned to Miss Ashford and his mother. Once there, however, he found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation. The events of this long and trying day were beginning to take their toll. He could swear the universe was conspiring against him. The harder he tried, it appeared, the heavier his burdens grew.
Suddenly the crowd in the parlour shifted. His gaze fell on Sophie, and the weight of his troubles was instantly forgotten. She was stunning. Her shining dark tresses were arranged in an elaborate coiffure that accented the length and slenderness of her neck. Her shimmering gown, dark blue over a white satin slip, had the same effect on her frame, without hiding her luscious curves. She was standing with Mrs Lowder and a blonde gentleman he had never seen before. A gentleman who had taken the opportunity of her turned head to run an appreciative gaze over her décolletage.
‘Is that Mrs Lowder over there with Sophie?’
‘Indeed it is,’ his mother answered. ‘Does she not look divine this evening? I believe motherhood agrees with her.’
‘I had a mind to speak to her husband. If you will excuse me, I believe I’ll go and ask if he is here.’
Oh, Lord, but he was seven kinds of an idiot. He’d just spent a fortnight avoiding Sophie, trying to forget how she’d felt in his arms. He’d thought long on what to say to her tonight, and promised himself that he’d make sure he never found himself in that situation again. He’d just determined to spend the evening securing another woman’s favour, and been warned by her father to keep his nose clean. Yet one glance had him abandoning all those good intentions, stifling the warning ringing in his head. He cursed himself for a fool all the way across the long, crowded parlour, but he didn’t stop.
‘Good evening,’ he said when he reached them.
‘Charles! You have finally come!’ Sophie said, reaching out to him. Was that relief he heard in her voice? And was she relieved to see him or to be distracted from her companion? ‘Please, allow me to present Mr Huxley? Mr Huxley, this is our host, Viscount Dayle.’ They greeted each other and Sophie continued, ‘And of course you are already acquainted with Mrs Lowder.’
‘Of course. May I present my compliments? You look lovely this evening.’
Mrs Lowder thanked him with an amused look and a brow raised in Sophie’s direction. Sophie, predictably, was not impressed.
‘There, Emily, now you have experienced first hand a bit of Lord Dayle’s famous charm! Come now, Charles, enough flattery, what we really wish to see is your hand.’
‘My hand?’
‘Oh, yes, my lord!’ Mrs Lowder was smiling quite genuinely now. ‘You see, Miss Westby and I were walking in the park today.’
‘Which park?’ asked Mr Huxley.
‘Hyde Park, of course,’ said Sophie, ‘and we walked there via Brook Street to Park Lane.’
‘I’ve always found Mount Street to be superior,’ Huxley answered. ‘Less traffic, you see.’
‘In any case, we were introduced to a most impertinent young lady there. She knew we were acquainted with you, Charles.’
‘But what does any of it have to