Mistress Of Madderlea

‘Not quite alone,’ Charlotte said, determined to include Sophie, not only because she felt overwhelmed, but because it wasn’t fair on her cousin to shut her out, as Lady Gosport seemed determined to do. ‘My lord, may I present my cousin, Miss Sophie Hundon?’

Sophie found herself subjected to a brown-eyed scrutiny which made her squirm inside and when he took her small hand in his very large one, she felt trapped like a wild bird in a cage which longed to be free but which hadn’t the sense to fly when the cage door was opened. Here, she knew, was a very dangerous man. Dangerous because he could make her forget the masquerade she and Charlotte had embarked upon, could make her disregard that list of virtues she had extolled as being necessary for the man she chose as her husband, dangerous for her peace of mind. And all in less than a minute!

She hated him for his extravagant clothes, for looking at her in that half-mocking way, for his self-assurance, for making her feel so weak. But no one would have guessed her thoughts as she dropped him a deep curtsy and then raised her eyes to his. ‘My lord.’

‘The cousins are to be brought out together,’ Lady Fitzpatrick told him. ‘Which I hold very generous of Miss Roswell.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, though she could not be sure if he was expressing surprise or agreement.

‘Not at all,’ Charlotte put in, making him turn from Sophie towards her. ‘We have always been very close, ever since…’ She stopped in confusion. She had been going to say ever since Sophie’s accident brought her to Upper Corbury, but checked herself. ‘Since the tragedy.’

‘Your soft heart does you credit, Miss Roswell,’ he said. ‘May I wish you a successful Season?’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She curtsied to him and he moved off. Sophie breathed again and managed a smile for Mr Gosport as he followed in his friend’s wake.

‘What do you make of that?’ Sophie whispered, watching the backs of the two men as they were introduced to the other young ladies.

Sophie made sure their sponsor had moved out of earshot, which, for her, was not very far. ‘I think Lady Fitz fancies herself as a matchmaker.’

‘Who?’

‘Why, you and Lord Braybrooke, of course.’

‘But she thinks I am you. Oh, Sophie, we are truly in a coil now.’

‘No, we are not. You do not fancy him for a husband, do you?’

‘No, I do not. He is too high in the instep for my taste. Besides, he might already be married—he is surely nearer thirty than twenty.’

‘Yes, but you heard Lady Fitz mention he had been away in the war. And she would not have dragged him over to us if he were not eligible.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Nothing. Enjoy ourselves. If he offers for you, you can always reject him. I’ll wager that will bring him down a peg or two.’

‘You do not like him?’

‘No, I do not think I do.’

‘Why not?’

Sophie was hard put to answer truthfully. Across the room the two men were enjoying a joke with a young lady and her mother to whom they had just been introduced and Sophie felt her heart contract into a tight knot, which she would not recognise as anything but distaste.

‘He doesn’t fit my criteria in any respect.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘I just do.’

The two men were taking their leave. Lady Fitzpatrick returned to the girls after talking to Lady Gosport. ‘What a turn up,’ she said, smiling broadly, making her round face seem even rounder. ‘We could not have hoped for a better start. Lord Braybrooke will undoubtedly be the catch of the Season. He was particularly interested in you, my dear Charlotte.’

‘Oh, no, I think not,’ Charlotte said. ‘He did not say above a dozen words to me and those most condescending…’

‘There you are, then! We must make what plans we can to engage his attention, and soon too, before he is snapped up.’ Sophie burst into laughter and received a look of disapproval. ‘Sophie, finding a husband for such as Miss Roswell is a very serious business and not a subject for mirth.’

Sophie straightened her face and remembered to speak very clearly, close to her ladyship’s ear. ‘You are quite right, my lady, marriage is a solemn undertaking. I beg your pardon.’

‘If you are lucky, you may engage the attention of Mr Gosport, though from what I have seen, he does seem to be tied to his mother’s apron strings and disinclined to wed. I should not say it, of course, for Beth Gosport is my friend.’

Sophie wondered why she had said it, unless it was to emphasise what a difficult task lay ahead in being able to suit the less important of her two charges.

‘I think we can safely take our leave now,’ Lady Fitzpatrick went on. ‘It is polite to arrive a little late and leave early if one means to stamp one’s superiority on to these little gatherings.’

‘As his lordship has done,’ Sophie said, winking at Charlotte, a gesture which was lost on the shortsighted Lady Fitzpatrick or she would have earned another reproof.

‘God, Martin, is that what I have to do to find a wife? I’d as lief forget the whole thing. I would, too, if it didn’t mean falling into a worse case and having to marry Emily.’

The two men were walking towards St James’s Street, where they intended to spend the remainder of the evening at White’s.

‘Oh, it was not as bad as all that,’ his friend said, cheerfully, ‘There was that little filly, Miss Roswell. Pretty little thing, blue eyes, blonde curls and curves in all the right places. And a considerable heiress, to boot. My mother told me the story.’

‘I collect Lady Fitzpatrick saying something about a tragedy.’

‘Yes. Her father, the second son of the second earl, married a Belgian lady and Miss Roswell was born and raised in Belgium…’

‘Really? She does not give the impression of a well-travelled young lady. I would have taken a wager that she has not stirred beyond the shores of England. More, I should have been inclined to say she had never come up to Town before.’

‘How can you possibly tell?’

‘The polish is lacking. She has a simple charm that is more in tune with country life.’

‘That is good, surely? It fits in well with your criteria.’

‘Does it?’ Richard turned to grin at him. ‘And are you going to remind me of that whenever we meet and discuss one of the hopefuls?’

‘Probably.’

‘Then carry on. I might as well know the rest.’

‘I believe her mother died some years ago. Her father brought her to England to stay with her uncle and his wife and then bought himself a commission and died in the Battle of Salamanca, a hero of that engagement, I am told. Her uncle, the Earl of Peterborough, adopted her.’

‘What do we know of him?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. He was a quiet gentlemen who stayed on his estate most of the time. I have heard nothing against him. On the contrary, he was well respected, even loved, on his home ground.’

‘Go on.’

‘Two years ago they were all travelling to London for Miss Roswell’s come-out when they were caught in a terrible storm; the horses took fright and the carriage turned over. Miss Roswell was the only survivor. Unmarried and seventeen years old, she inherited Madderlea. Quite a catch, my friend.’