Page Five
Sophie stabbed at the needlework, jabbing her index finger. “Ouch!”
Sucking the tip of her finger in her mouth, she scowled at the offending fabric. She’d made quilts at home, but they were practical. This, this artistic nonsense was a waste of time. A prettily embroidered jack-in-the-pulpit would bring no more warmth than a pieced square.
She tossed the scrap, thread and needle on a nearby table and stood. There must be something else she could do. How did the ladies of London not go out of their minds? She walked to the the other end of the room and began to scan the books for something to read.
“A gentleman to see you,” a maid with a silver tray announced. “Shall I send him away?”
Sophie rapidly crossed the room. “Whatever for?” she asked as she snatched the card off the tray.
“Your aunt’s gone out,” the maid replied.
“Why should that matter?”
The maid cocked her head and widened her eyes in surprise. “Why, the rules, miss.”
The rules. The bloody rules. As if by being in the same room her virginity could be snatched from thin air. She’d grown up on a farm; she knew it took more than that.
She toyed with the card as she walked back to the bookshelves. Not that she wanted to see Lord Gwendyll, but she was so bored she was ready to scream.
She turned on her heel and looked at the maid. “Show him in.”
“But…”
“Then you can stay and guard my honor.”
“But I’ve work to do? Miss Latchkey will have my hide if I don’t get the silver polished by tea time.”
“I’ll deal with Miss Latchkey. Now go.” Housekeepers and tradesmen didn’t worry Sophie; she’d been dealing with them since she was ten.
The ton was a different animal.
“Good afternoon, Lady Ashcroft.”Jonathan’s smooth as silk voice interrupted her mental picture of what her aunt would do if she came home early.
“Lord Gwendyll.” She sat on the couch, carefully spreading her skirts so they’d not wrinkle. She could at least appear to be a lady.
“I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday.”
She leaned forward. “How did you find me?”
“A generous contribution to Mrs. Montgomery’s favorite charity persuaded her to provide the address.”
Mrs. Montgomery deserved a strong talking to.
“I see.” She tapped her foot. What was there to say? What was she allowed to say? Her aunt had given her stacks of books on how a young lady should behave, but it all seemed like nonsense to her. The books were only saved from a thick layer of dust by her vigilant maid.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at any of the summer dances.”
“I only arrived in September.”
“I see.”
Another lingering silence interrupted only by the whisper of the maid’s shuffling shoes.
Sophie glanced at the needlepoint on the side table. Even it would be preferable to this hunt for conversation.
“Do you dance, Lord Gwendyll.”
He shook his head. “The ladies tell me a horse would be more graceful.” He grinned at her. “But I play a wicked game of cards.”
Interest sparked. “My father and I played cards many an evening at home.”
“Perhaps we might play sometime then.”
“I daresay not.” Sophie’s aunt stood ramrod straight in the doorway to the sitting room.”
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