am I the first whose career has been jeopardised,’ he added, ‘but I am the first to be so publicly reviled for it.’
‘It is your past exploits that make you so irresistible to the papers, my lord,’ Sophie teased, hoping to restore his good humor. ‘They think to line their pockets with so long a list.’
‘I would that that were the only motivation behind this constant attention. But someone seems determined to unearth every scrape I’ve landed in since I was breeched.’
Sophie deflated a little with this answer. It would appear that Charles could not be coaxed back to his good humour. If anything, he looked more morose as the tea things were brought in and he took a seat. Emily poured, and, after she had offered around the biscuits, she exchanged a pointed look with Lady Dayle.
‘I know it has been an age since you were last in this room, Charles,’ his mother said, setting her tea down, ‘but have you noticed the changes that have been wrought?’
The question appeared to startle him. As it would any man, Sophie supposed. Yet she could not suppress the nervous chill she felt when she recalled his scorn at their last meeting.
He glanced about, and Sophie followed suit. She could not help but be well pleased with what she saw. Emily had held a definite vision for this room, and between them they had created something special. Much of the woodwork had been painted a dark green, softer shades of the same hue graced the walls and were incorporated into the upholstery and curtains. Rich cherry furniture, including a stately grandfather clock, contrasted nicely. It looked well, and, most importantly, it satisfied a secret longing in her friend’s soul.
‘It is very peaceful,’ Charles replied, sounding surprised.
‘Exactly how I hoped it would feel,’ Emily agreed. ‘I wanted to step in here and feel as if I were hidden away in a forest glen. It is only just finished, and I could not be happier with the effect. I am extremely pleased with the artist who helped me with the design. In fact, although it is supposed to be a secret, I believe I will share one aspect that was done just for me. You will not spread the tale, and I am convinced no one else would have done the thing so well.’
Sophie held her breath. The viscountess looked intrigued. Charles appeared to be looking for a back way out. But Emily was not to be deterred.
‘When I was a girl,’ she began in a dreamy voice, ‘I was fascinated with fairy rings. I searched our home woods diligently, and when I found one I would spend days there, making wishes and dreaming dreams of the fairy realm.’
‘Your mother and I did the very same thing, dear, when we were young.’ Lady Dayle’s voice was gentle.
‘I know,’ Emily said fondly. ‘She discovered me one day. She joined me, plopped herself right down amongst the toadstools in her best day dress. We spent many a happy day so occupied.’ She sat quietly a moment and Sophie’s heart ached for her friend.
‘So when we began this room,’ Emily continued, ‘I tried to convince … ah … my designer, to use a fairy wallpaper pattern I had seen in a design guide. It really was quite loud and colourful, though, and not nearly so tasteful as what we have here now. It was my designer who convinced me and still found a way to incorporate the youthful fantasies of a silly, nostalgic woman.’
‘Don’t keep us in suspense, dear,’ said Lady Dayle. ‘Where is it?’
‘All around us,’ said Emily, ‘and neither of you had any idea! But if you look closely, you’ll see a pixie here and there peeking out at us.’
The viscountess immediately rose and began to search, but Charles looked straight at Sophie’s green-stained fingers then right at the high spot where she had been when he entered the room. And there she was, a tiny green and gold-haired sprite, peering at them from the top of the curio cabinet.
He looked back at her and Sophie smiled and gave a little shrug.
‘Well, Charles,’ his mother said with a touch of sarcasm as she returned to her seat, ‘that’s a sour look you are wearing. Have you too much lemon in your tea, or are you in some kind of pain?’
‘No, no.’ He let loose a little bark of laughter. ‘No more than any other gentleman forced to listen to a pack of ladies fussing over décor. ‘
It was Sophie who was in pain. He was being deliberately cruel. But why?
‘Well, pull yourself together, dear,’ his mother was saying, ‘for you are in for more than a little fussing.’
‘Yes, for we have saved the best surprises for last,’ Emily said.
‘I think he has already discerned one of them,’ said the viscountess shrewdly. ‘And you are correct, my son, it was indeed Sophie who envisioned the design of this room. She has done a magnificent job, both here and at Mrs Lowder’s home in Dorsetshire.’
‘I congratulate you on your fine work, Miss Westby,’ he said, his voice coldly formal. ‘I wish you equal success in your début.’
Sophie was growing tired of Charles’s swaying moods. What on earth was wrong with the man? None of this was going as she had planned. ‘I am a designer, my lord, not a débutante,’ she said firmly.
He cocked his head as if he had heard her incorrectly. ‘Nonsense. You are an earl’s niece. You are of good birth and good connections.’ He nodded at the others in the room. ‘Why else come to London at the start of the Season?’
‘She has come at my invitation, Charles,’ his mother intervened. ‘Both to be introduced to society and to aid me with your birthday present.’
His look was so frigid that Sophie wouldn’t have been surprised if the viscountess had sprouted icicles. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Lady Dayle was a warm-hearted and giving woman. She was also still Charles’s mother. ‘Do not practise your high-handed ways with me, sir.’ She softened her voice a bit and continued. ‘The Sevenoaks house, dear. A politician needs a place to get away, to invite his cronies and plan strategies, to entertain. The place is run-down and shabby. For your birthday, I would like to ask Miss Westby to help me with the redecorating of it.’
Sophie could have cheerfully kissed Lady Dayle’s hem. A house. A nobleman’s house. It was exactly what she hoped for.
‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mother, but such a large undertaking is unnecessary. I would not wish you to tax yourself. Nor would I wish to be responsible for taking so much of Miss Westby’s time away from her first Season.’
Sophie could have cheerfully punched Lord Dayle’s nose. Was he insane or merely trying to make her so? Who was he? Haughty aristocrat or charming gentleman? She was beginning not to care.
‘Nonsense,’ returned his mother. ‘I shall see to it that we both divide our time favourably. And with Emily’s help as well, we shall have a grand time with it all. You will,’ she added her pièce de résistance, ‘be in no way discommoded.’
‘But, Mother,’ he returned gently, ‘perhaps this sort of project should be undertaken by my bride?’
‘I should place a great deal more weight with that argument if such a person existed.’ The viscountess sniffed. ‘You haven’t won the hand of a dyed-in-the-wool puritan yet, my boy.’
Emily spoke up. ‘I dare say that your mama should derive more enjoyment from such a project, in any case, my lord,’ she said with a significant look.
This argument did indeed appear to sway him. ‘Oh, very well,’ he capitulated with bad grace. He turned, his eyes narrowed, to Sophie, ‘But I beg you both, here and now, to leave me out of it. It is entirely in your hands. I do not wish to be conferred with, consulted with, or called on. In fact, I would be mightily pleased if I hear not another word on the matter until it is finished.’
Even before he had finished his sentence Sophie was swallowing her disappointment, pushing