‘Why, Lord Charles?’ asked Sophie as they ascended the main staircase together. ‘She’s always been most kind to me.’
‘It’s the French,’ he confided. ‘Don’t like to keep reminding her I don’t speak it very well. Talks away in it nineteen to the dozen, at the drop of a hat. Know I ought to understand it, but don’t. Dashed awkward.’
‘She does speak English, doesn’t she? I was told she didn’t when I first came here, but that isn’t true. I’m sure I’ve heard her speaking to the footmen.’
‘Shecan, but she don’t care to. Thinks French is better, or some such stuff. It might be, I suppose – not the man to say. But if she does drift off into it, you can always pull her back, or give me a hint if there’s something that I should particularly have taken notice of.’ Sophie agreed that she could easily dothat, and they proceeded on in charity with each other. ‘Another thing!’ said Lord Charles with an air of having been struck with a delightful and novel thought. ‘Now you’re marrying Rafe, I don’t have to try to get my tongue around your surname. Wouldn’t care to attempt it, sounds completely different every time I hear it – just shows you how useless I am at the dashed language. But that’s all fine and dandy – I can call you Sophie, and you can call me Charles. Quite the done thing now you’re going to be m’sister.’
Sophie agreed rather hollowly that this was so, and by this time they had reached the Dowager’s chamber door. They were commanded to enter, and found the old lady sittingen déshabille, taking a light breakfast with Marchand waiting solicitously on her. Sophie could hardly doubt that Delphine had already heard tell of much that had passed downstairs; the abigail’s skills were close on supernatural in that regard. The old lady greeted her grandson with amused affection, slipping into French almost immediately and causing an expression of panic to appear upon his amiable features. He endured it for a while and then took advantage of the little disruption caused by Marchand’s departure to interrupt the Gallic flow and say, ‘Sophie – Miss – can’t quite recall the name – has some happy news for you, ma’am. I’m sure Rafe would have come and told you himself, but he’s tied up with that lawyer fellow and his papers, poor old boy.’
‘Indeed?’ said the Dowager, patting the satin sofa beside her and inviting Sophie to sit. ‘I could perhaps guess what it is, but I shall not. What do you have to tell me, my dear child?’ This was spoken in English, and Lord Charles looked quite delighted at the success of his stratagem.
Sophie, to her consternation, found herself blushing. ‘Rafe – Lord Wyverne – has done the honour of asking me, that is he has…’
Lord Charles came to her rescue. ‘Dashed unpleasant scene downstairs, ma’am, Lady Wyverne was not herself, said some things… Anyone might be overset by hearing them. Was myself! But Rafe explained it all. Natural, I suppose, that she should not quite like to see herself displaced.’ He seemed to realise that this statement might have unfortunate implications in the circumstances, and ploughed on heroically, ‘Not that she was, of course. Not a bit of it. No. But yes! The long and the short of it is that Rafe and Miss, Miss Sophie are to be married! Isn’t that the most capital tidings you ever heard, ma’am?’
‘It certainly is,’ said Delphine, smiling patiently. ‘Although I must say I am not in the least surprised.’
‘Ah, but you’re a clever one,’ said her grandson in honest admiration. ‘Just like Rafe, come to think of it.’
‘Perhaps, my dear boy, you might like to leave us two women alone to discuss the good tidings. In French,’ the Dowager added, with a wicked twinkle, and Lord Charles was gone from the room as swiftly as was consistent with good manners.
‘That foolish boy,’ his fond grandmother said, in her native language, as the door closed behind him. ‘Thank heaven his sister has his share of brains and more. A pretty young woman, or a plain one for that matter, cannot afford to be half as stupid as a young man of rank can. The world will not make allowances for her. She may pretend to be, of course – that is a quite different matter.’
‘I hope you don’t think I have manipulated Rafe into offering for me,’ said Sophie desperately. ‘Because honestly, I haven’t. I’d have been gone from here yesterday if his father hadn’t died so suddenly. I have not the least wish to marry him. I was astonished when he made that public declaration – but after what Lady Wyverne had said, I quite see that he had no choice. He was thinking only of my reputation. I was grateful, but the truth is I have none.’
‘My dear girl!’ the Dowager said. ‘Of course I was not referring to you. You have your own resources – and I am very glad that you do, or you would have perished along with the rest of your family. But I beg you, do not lie to me.’
‘What do you mean, ma’am?’
‘You said you have not the least wish to marry my grandson. But that’s not true, is it?’
‘No,’ said Sophie sadly at last. ‘No. Of course it isn’t. I’m sorry. I should have said, I have not the least intention of marrying him. That would have been more accurate.’
‘That’s better. But will you tell me why?’
‘It must surely be obvious.’
‘Not to me. Indulge an old woman, if you please.’
‘Lady Wyverne accused me of being Rafe’s mistress.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Delphine, preserving her calm. ‘Did his brother notice? It can sometimes be hard to tell.’
‘I think so, and Mr Barnaby was there too. I expect the servants heard, from the hall. She was very loud. But Rafe spun a convincing tale of her jealousy, said I was your relative, and they seemed to accept it.’
‘That was very well done of him,’ replied the Dowager in tones of satisfaction.
‘But Iamhis mistress! And I had a lover before that,’ Sophie said, determined to be understood.
‘I have had several,’ answered Delphine. ‘My husband had many more – well, he was older, and he began it, otherwise I expect I might not have done. Or I might, perhaps. It is far too late to say.’
‘It’s not the same!’
‘No, it is not, my dear, because you love him, don’t you? And he loves you. This is exactly what I hoped would happen when I first recognised you.’ She sounded excessively pleased with herself.
Sophie hiccupped, something between a laugh and a sob. ‘It can’t possibly be exactly what you hoped would happen! Lord Wyverne is dead, the jewels gone!’
The Dowager waved one thin hand, in the manner of one who says, Mere details. ‘Tell me this,’ she said. ‘When that dreadful creature so accused you – and I cannot imagine how she had the gall – did Rafe merely say, “No, she is my affianced bride, madam! How dare you so defame her?” It seems most unlike him. He has a temper, you know, though he keeps it well in check. Think how stern he was at first when he disapproved of you.’
