Maybe.
A man approached, and Sophia let go of Jay’s hands. She turned towards the newcomer with a smile.
“Jay, this is my old colleague from America, Simon Bradley. And Simon, this is Jay Orton, my neighbour, of sorts, and friend.”
Of sorts, Jay added silently.
He didn’t need the introduction. He had known since he saw the tall, handsome fair-haired man who he must be. He could have told just from the way Sophia turned towards him and smiled.
The American held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jay.”
Despite all his faults, Jay was not a remotely violent person, and the primal rage that flared in him at the sight of the man and his outstretched hand was nothing more than unreasonable jealousy, pure and simple. He knew that. And he was, after all, an English gentleman, so he shook Simon’s hand lightly and said, “Likewise.”
He glanced at Sophia, but she was staring fixedly somewhere in the region of Jay’s lapel. Knowing her social difficulties, he couldn’t expect her to make thisménage à troisany less painful, so he shouldered the unpleasant task himself.
“How are you enjoying England?” he asked the man.
“It’s fantastic. I’ve been to London before, but never this far north. It’s even more English than I imagined. The countryside is just beautiful. We went into York yesterday, and on the way back, Sophia took me to this little ruined castle. What was it called, Sophia?”
“Hm? Oh. Spofforth.”
“How romantic,” said Jay without intending to.
Simon gave him a quick look, then, clearly being a perceptive man, excused himself with the offer to collect them all a glass of Prosecco.
Sophia followed him with her eyes.
“You’re having a nice time then,” Jay made himself say through the dust in his mouth. “You and Simon.”
“He’s very nice.”
“The nicest guy?”
Sophia gave him a brief frowning glance, clearly getting the reference to the song they had shared just a couple of nights before.
Was it only that recently? When he had felt happy, and for the first time in a long time, life had felt good?
He turned to the bar, trying to catch the attention of the bartender, who was deep in conversation with a pretty brunette at the far end.
“One of my cousins,” Sophia said, mistaking the direction of his interest. “The Penningtons. There’s six of them altogether, but only two of them could make it tonight. They live in Kent. Mostly. I think you’re seated at their table later. So that will be…nice.”
It wasn’t like Sophia to ramble. Jay let himself look at her properly, from the sweep of her skirt to the tension around her eyes. “How are you doing, Soph?”
“You know me, Jay. This whole night is horrible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you’re here though. Although…I feel you don’t want to be.”
He tried to smile. “You know me, Clements. This kind of party… Not really my scene.”
“It’s not mine either.”
“Should we run away together?”
He said it jokingly, but it seized him as a tremendous idea. He would grab her hand and they would run together from the ballroom. They would flee, laughing, shedding shoes and ties, Soph letting her hair down. They’d go to his room maybe, listen to music together, lie in his bed together—
Simon returned and handed him a glass of Prosecco.
