‘I’d much rather you called me Charlie,’ said the irrepressible young nobleman. ‘“My lord” is such a mouthful. As is your surname, for that matter. I can just about say it, probably, butI wouldn’t care to have to spell it, damme if I would, not if you held a pistol to my head. I’m only a quarter French, y’know.’
She smiled, but said, ‘I do take your point, but I can’t possibly?—’
But she was not to be allowed to finish her sentence, and once again her breakfast was to be interrupted, in a much more unwelcome manner this time. Lady Wyverne surged into the room, leaving the door wide open behind her and advancing towards Sophie at alarming speed. ‘You!’ she said in the carrying tones that must have served her so well upon the stage. She was dressed from head to foot in black, though her gown was considerably lower cut than was traditional for deep mourning in the daytime. Sophie stood, partly in a show of respect and partly because she thought it unwise to put herself at the disadvantage of being seated and vulnerable if the woman should actually attack her with a coffee pot or piece of flung crockery.
‘Lady Wyverne,’ she said levelly, though her heart was pounding. ‘I must offer you my condolences on your great loss.’ Their last encounter had been more than unfortunate, but Sophie had no intention of referring to it, certainly not in front of Rafe’s brother.
‘I don’t want your condolences, you… you trollop!’ Lord Charles had also risen at his stepmother’s entrance, and was standing regarding her, his mouth half-open and an expression of fascinated terror upon his face. ‘How dare you sit here, strumpet, and usurp my position?’
‘I’m not,’ said Sophie, abandoning civility as a lost cause and resuming her seat. ‘I’m just having breakfast, and you must perceive that it’s a round table. There’s no head or foot.’
‘I say, ma’am,’ said Lord Charles with some courage, ‘making all allowances for your sad situation, and adding my condolences, obviously, but it’s not really fair, you know, toaddress this young lady in that manner. Assure you she’s not usurping in the slightest. Just trying to eat her breakfast in peace.’ As was I, his expression plainly added. ‘Not trying to usurp anything myself, perish the thought, but may I pour you a cup of coffee?’
‘Coffee?’ bellowed Rosanna with loathing. There was no question; whatever her acting skills may or may not have been – and her theatrical career had not been particularly illustrious in the conventional sense – she’d have been heard with perfect clarity at the back of the cheapest seats and possibly even in the street outside the theatre. ‘Coffee? I don’t want coffee!’
‘Tankard of ale?’ suggested Lord Charles hopefully, keen to lower the emotional temperature of the room. ‘Sausage? Several sausages?’ He brandished one vigorously in illustration, since he hadn’t put down his fork when he’d risen reluctantly to his feet.
The suggestion, combined with the gesture, was perhaps unfortunate, given Lady Wyverne’s reputation, as was the fact that Sophie choked a little over her coffee, and turned the involuntary sound into a rather unconvincing cough. Rosanna’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you mocking me, young man?’
His face was a picture of horror, and he appeared to have been struck speechless. ‘I don’t think he is, really,’ said Sophie, trying very hard to keep her face straight. ‘I believe Lord Charles is just wondering if you’d like to join him for breakfast.’
‘That’s it!’ Lord Charles replied fervently, casting a wistful glance down at his abandoned plate.
‘I am the Marchioness of Wyverne! I will not sit down to break bread with a woman of easy virtue who has no place here!’
This was undoubtedly intended as her exit line, but it would have had more impact if Sophie had not been laughing. ‘Really?’ she responded sweetly. ‘Would you like me to tell your stepson exactly what took place in the Marble Saloon last week?’
Rosanna was visibly taken aback, but not for long. ‘Would you likemeto tell him what took place in his brother’s secret little chamber three days ago?’ she shot back. Lord Charles’s eyes were jumping from one woman to the other, as at a tennis match. He still held his fork with its forgotten sausage.
Sophie had risen to her feet again now and the two women faced each other, eyes flashing, bosoms heaving, chiefly Lady Wyverne’s due to her natural advantages, and Sophie was about to say something most regrettable when fate, in the shape of the new Marquess, intervened. Most unfortunately, he had an elderly gentleman at his heels who must be his legal adviser. This individual looked both shocked and enthralled.
‘Lady Wyverne,’ Rafe said icily. ‘You have an exceedingly carrying voice. It penetrated to the library, where Mr Barnaby and I were in consultation. A respect for common decency has so far prevented me from saying this, madam, but I must say it now: you are no longer welcome here. I would be grateful if you would have your bags packed and make ready to leave as soon as possible. My carriage is at your disposal, and I will ensure you are able to sustain yourself comfortably until all legal matters are settled and your jointure paid to you. But it is time for you to go. And I will not,’ he went on, stepping menacingly closer to her and forestalling the vituperative speech that she was quite plainly about to launch into, ‘hear another vulgar word from you, least of all if it should be disgraceful, unwarranted and spiteful abuse of my affianced wife!’
39
Lady Wyverne was rendered mute by this announcement, and Rafe was not slow to press home his advantage. He said, ‘My brother is perfectly well aware of how you comported yourself towards me when I was a boy in this house. Mr Barnaby may not be, but I am quite happy to tell him everything if you utter another syllable. And I am sure that he knows enough of your past history that he will not credit anything you have said in your malice to smear this young lady’s good name.’
Mr Barnaby, who plainly knew which side his bread was buttered, murmured, ‘Certainly not, my lord!’
‘Good name?’ began Lady Wyverne.
‘If you say another word, madam, I will have the footmen seize you and throw you out by main force, and your baggage after you. It’s possible they might enjoy it,’ added Rafe thoughtfully. ‘And I know I would.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Rosanna seethed.
‘Oh, I assure you I would.’
Lady Wyverne took his measure with a glance, and, having taken it, gathered up the shreds of her dignity, and marched out of the room, slamming the door sharply behind her.
Rafe said, ‘I’m sorry, Sophie, that you should have had to endure such a scene. Mademoiselle de Montfaucon,’ he told the lawyer with enormous assurance, ‘is a young relative of my grandmother’s, who most kindly agreed to come to keep her company quite recently. And she swiftly became much more than that, to my grandmother and most of all to me. It can hardly be a surprise that Lady Wyverne should have taken an instant dislike to her, through no fault of her own, and lost no opportunity to abuse her. But she will do so no longer.’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Mr Barnaby. ‘Most unfortunate, but I am delighted to be able to congratulate you, mademoiselle, my lord. Happier times, we may look forward to happier times, I am quite sure of it.’
Lord Charles set down his congealed sausage and his fork, which he had been clutching all this while, and stepped forward to congratulate his brother, and to kiss Sophie enthusiastically and meatily on the cheek. If he noticed that the name she now went by was not the one she’d been introduced to him under not half an hour since – and it was possible that he did not, since as he’d admitted he was neither awake upon all suits nor proficient in the French language – he showed no sign of it. ‘Dashed glad to hear the news!’ he said. ‘Couldn’t be happier for you both! Quite understand why you didn’t mention it before, with the old b— with m’father having just given up the ghost.’
Sophie had no option but to accept these congratulations with becoming modesty. She’d lost her temper with Lady Wyverne, and had been lucky, she must admit, that Rafe had stepped in before they had really fallen to pulling caps. She couldn’t blame him for what he had said, nor complain that he had been high-handed – it was hard to imagine what else he could have contrived to extricate them from the situation. Shewasa relative of the Dowager’s, albeit a very distant one, and it was quite credible that, seeing Rafe’s growing attraction to her,Rosanna might have been possessed with jealousy. Mr Barnaby was commendably discreet and respectable in appearance, but must know much more than he showed upon his lined face, given that he’d apparently worked for the late Marquess for some years. If indeed he was currently still labouring under the misapprehension that Rosanna had once been Rafe’s mistress, no doubt Rafe would disabuse him firmly of the notion once they were alone again. And as for the spurious engagement, she supposed it could quietly be forgotten, once this crisis had passed. It must be.
And so she smiled, and said all that was proper, and presently found herself being taken up to the Dowager’s chamber, at Lord Charles’s insistence. ‘I’m sure she’d like an opportunity to discuss the good news,’ he said confidingly. Sophie admitted with perfect truth that they had not yet found an opportunity to share it with her. ‘Well then, all the better! I’ll go bail she’ll be delighted to hear it – it’s not right that she should be the last to know – and to be frank, I’m a little frightened of her, and would welcome the company.’
