Regency Rebels: Scandalous Lord, Rebellious Miss / An Improper Aristocrat

‘It is what I have been trying to do, my dear, indeed, it is why you were invited today.’ Beaming, she took Sophie’s hand. ‘Allow me to reacquaint the two of you. I do not say introduce, for, if I recall, the two of you did bump into each other in Dorsetshire in years past.’

‘We have indeed bumped into one another,’ Charles began in an acid tone, ‘and only too recently—’ He stopped. ‘In Dorsetshire?’

‘Yes, dear. May I present Miss Westby? Sophie, surely you remember my son?’

Sophie could only nod. Her heart was, unexpectedly, in her throat and she could not tear her eyes from him as she waited for the truth to strike. She could almost see his mind spinning behind the dark and masculine beauty of his eyes. ‘Westby,’ he repeated. And there it was, at last, shining in his gaze, knowledge, and a flash of pure, unfettered joy. ‘Sophie?’

A weight of uncertainty dropped from Sophie’s soul. He knew her. He was glad. She felt as if she could have floated off with the slightest breeze.

He stepped forward and took her hands. His grip was warm and calloused, and so longed for, it almost felt familiar. ‘Sophie! I can scarce believe it! It’s been so long.’

‘Indeed.’ She smiled. ‘So long that you did not know me—twice over! If I weren’t so pleased to see you again, I should feel slighted.’

‘It was you in the street that day, and you did not reveal yourself—minx. I do not know how I failed to realise. I should have known that only you would back-talk me so outrageously!’

‘Back-talk? I only gave back what you deserved. You were so high in the instep I barely knew it was you at all.’

The door swung open and in swept Emily. ‘Oh, do forgive me,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘I should have been home an age ago, but you’ll never believe it.’

‘Emily, are you well?’ Sophie turned as Charles dropped her hands. ‘What is it?’

‘We have been caught up in a riot!’ Her hand shook a little as she returned Sophie’s embrace.

‘A riot?’ gasped Lady Dayle. ‘My goodness, are you unharmed?’

‘Perfectly well, do not fear.’ Emily removed her bonnet and moved to a chair. ‘Perhaps riot is too strong a word, though it was unsettling!’ She tried to rally a reassuring smile. ‘It was only a group of mourners who had come from that poor Mr Cashman’s funeral. They were quite well behaved, but there were ever so many of them! It was a little frightening to find ourselves in their midst.’

‘No weapons, no looting?’ asked Charles. His voice had gone cold and harsh, so different from just a moment ago that Sophie could scarcely credit it. His smile was gone. All traces of warmth had vanished and he stood, shoulders squared, solid and unmoving. Sophie instinctively took a step towards him. He looked as if the weight of the world had descended upon him.

‘No, thank the heavens.’ Emily sighed. ‘I own that the man was used rather badly, but I have no wish to be drawn into the situation.’

‘Used indeed!’ said Sophie, still eyeing Charles uneasily. ‘And then cheated, robbed, and made a terrible example of by the very government he risked his life to protect.’ She allowed Lady Dayle to pull her to a chair. ‘I wish I might have paid my respects.’

The man’s story was tragic, and all too common. A navy man, the ‘gallant tar’ had faithfully served his country for years. The war at last over, he’d been discharged, but unable to collect his arrears in pay and prize money. He’d pursued his claim, but had been insulted and ignored. The same day as his last curt dismissal by the Admiralty Board, spurred by drink and anger, he’d become caught up in an angry crowd bent on riot, and he’d been caught and arrested for stealing arms from a gunsmith’s shop. Tried, convicted, and publicly hanged, he’d become a symbol for thousands of the discontented across the nation.

‘In any case, it is too upsetting to contemplate,’ shuddered Emily. ‘Let us order tea and talk of pleasanter things.’ She rang for a servant, and then settled on the sofa next to Lady Dayle. ‘Well, Lord Dayle, tell us how you are getting on after that absurd Avery situation.’

Charles paled even further and shot a wary glance in Sophie’s direction. Clearly he did not account this a more pleasant subject.

‘I am faring little better,’ Charles responded, ‘though the truth is out.’ He spoke tightly, his face a mask of control. ‘I prefer not to discuss the subject, ma’am.’

‘I don’t know who could have believed such nonsense in any case,’ the viscountess complained. ‘As if you would have been interested in such a nasty old piece of baggage.’

‘Mother,’ chided Charles.

‘I’m sorry, my dear, but it is the truth. Lord Avery and his wife have antagonised each other for years, each trying to outdo the other in their outrageous bids for attention. I wish they would finally admit their feelings for each other and leave the rest of us out of it.’

‘Charles is not the first young Tory she has used to stir her husband’s jealousy,’ Emily agreed.

‘Nor 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.’